


The Name is English,

by Deunan403 (SinisterAmix)



Series: English [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Analysis, Digital Art, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, hella slow burn, unreliable narrators
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2020-08-10 07:24:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 75,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinisterAmix/pseuds/Deunan403
Summary: For your first conversation with a human other than the only other surviving person on the planet, you suppose it could’ve gone worse. This Jake guy ended up quite a lot more interesting than was previously expected. You anticipated a typical kid from a happy, normal family to be bitter about, but as it turns out, he’s almost as isolated as you are. His story sounded a bit farfetched, but you’d found yourself believing him because he just seemed so painfully... sincere.





	1. Once inside a dream bubble...

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This fic is really just a hot mess of justifications clumsily stitched together in a fumbling attempt to authenticate a chain of events that will eventually culminate in a heavily self-indulgent climactic initial intention.
> 
> But that's all fanfiction, huh.
    
    
              A young ghost troll sits by her lonesome, contemplating her afterlife after death, soon to be rudely interrupted by the call to a destiny as the catalyst in a session she’s unknowingly doomed thousands of times over. Of course, she’s unaware of this, so when she’s greeted with the powerful zap of a stranger in blue pajamas popping into existence nearby, she can do little more than sit and stare. Bristled with breath stalled, she tries to process the someone who is very much not a troll hovering several feet away. He glances around curiously until meeting her gaze.
    
              Each of them blinks once.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              Then he waves. “Hi, Aranea!”
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              Bewildered, the girl returns his wave. “Oh, uhm. Hi! Have we... Have we met?”
    
              His smile falters at that. “Oh. Uhm... I guess not? Not yet, anyway.”
    
              Predictably, she looks baffled at his reply. They stare at each other for a few moments longer, until the stranger’s brow furrows curiously. “Hm, that’s weird,” he remarks suddenly.
    
              “What is?”
    
              “I think I was doing some weird rapid-fire teleportation through space and time just now, but it looks like I’m not immediately zapping away this time,” he explains a little too nonchalantly for either of their tastes. He gives the place a once over before floating over to where the troll sits. “Can I sit with you?”
    
              “Uh, of course!” She makes a move to scoot over before realizing it’s unnecessary. When he’s gotten comfortable about a foot away, he turns back to face her. “Since it looks like we haven’t met yet from your perspective, I’m John.”
    
              “John,” she repeats. Momentarily, she asks, “What do you mean, ‘from my perspective?’”
    
              He gives pause, seemingly discerning the best way to answer. “Well, from where I’m standing, I was treasure hunting with you, Vriska, and some other trolls just a few minutes ago. ...Wait. You know Vriska, right? Have you two met yet?”
    
              She shakes her head. “I’m afraid not.”
    
              “Oh. Well. She's like your descendant, I guess? From a different universe. Looks just like you, except she has long hair.”
    
              Aranea stares at him in disbelief, as if trying to absorb and trust that the boy sitting beside her is actually there. Blinking, she shakes her head. “You’ll have to forgive me, but everything you’ve said is a bit difficult to swallow. You don’t appear to be dead. Are you dreaming?”
    
              John shrugs. “Don’t think so. I mean... I was asleep earlier, but I’m pretty confident this is me awake right now. As far as I can tell, I think I just touched something I wasn’t supposed to and now everything feels... What word did she use that time? Meta... Metaphysical?”
    
              “Like abstract?” the other offers. He snaps his fingers. “Yes, exactly!”
    
              “What did you touch?”
    
              “Well, we were treasure hunting and,” he starts, making vague gestures with his arms. “We found this chest, and the thing inside of it was some kind of powerful juju? Actually now that I think about it, it looked kinda familiar. Vriska said it was super important but that we couldn’t touch it. But I thought I was safe because at the time, I was the dream hologram version of myself, ya know? So I just went ahead and stuck my hand in it and then...”
    
              He hesitates, then groans and aggressively scratches his head with both hands. “Agghh! I don’t get what happened! Why is everything so abstract?!”
    
              Aranea hums thoughtfully, excitedly. “Well, this all sounds awfully fascinating! You’ve roused my curiosity, John. I’d love nothing more than to assist your recollection however I can. If you’d like, I might be able to assuage the conception of your recent experiences.”
    
              She reaches toward him, halting a few inches from his face.
    
              “May I?”
    
              John’s eyes flick between her fingers to her face as his hands fall. Not long later, he nods.
    
              Slowly, her hand rises until her palm is firmly pressed against his forehead—
    
              —and barely a second later do they blow apart, each landing hard on their backs.
    
              John clutches his head hard, fingers digging into his scalp as he gasps through the pain. Just several feet away, Aranea does the same.
    
              There’s too much. Too many. God, there’s just so much more than there should be, and nothing’s clear. What is he seeing? So much of it is unfamiliar but feels like it should be? He was there, but he wasn’t. He’s talked to them, but he’s never seen them before.
    
              What are these experiences??
    
              John is still writhing when a bright light engulfs him, and then he’s gone.
    

> [Sometime later, inside another dream bubble...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/47694958#workskin)


	2. Sometime later, inside another dream bubble...


              It’s surreal, looking out the window and seeing a thriving society of trolls. Though, ‘thriving’ isn’t quite the right word for it. The city is rich, but the inhabitants appear cheerless. Even to an observer from on high, the misery and torment is palpable. A young troll girl peers out at a world she doesn’t recognize and contemplates her next steps.
    
              At the same time, she analyzes memories that aren’t exactly hers.
    
              When Aranea attempted to heal the Heir of Breath, it unlocked a cache of knowledge that should’ve never been accessible to her—visions of lives, not through John’s eyes, but through her own. In that singular moment, a wealth of experiences crashed into her psyche and dispersed in a web of choices and consequences so dense, it would take centuries to absorb it all properly. But once the pain receded, what else could she do but try?
    
              And who better to try, and maybe even succeed, than a Sylph of Light?
    
              There had been something about that Heir that tested the parameters of her aspect. The treasure he touched must’ve shifted the paradigm of his abilities, allowing him to transcend the corporeal, and sequentially caused the abstraction that severed his bond to Skaia’s providence. And the instant Aranea’s power connected with that abstraction, it was like she’d reached through the hole to infinity, linking to infinite timelines with infinite Araneas. Impossible as it is to navigate an endless realm of possibilities, she’s already sorted through a great many, and of those thousands, there is one reality that’s earned her intrigue: a doomed timeline in which an alternate version of herself intended to erase Lord English altogether. She wore the Ring of Life which induced her resurrection and amplified her power to heights unimaginable. It was an ambition that might’ve succeeded had she not invited challenge by The Condesce herself.
    
              It’s the very same ambition that brings her here to now, to the dream bubble of the troll that murdered her.
    
              Because there’s a variable now that none of her alternate selves were fortunate enough to be cognizant of—an outlier, invisible to the rules.
    
              Aranea steps away from the window and faces the double doors at the end of the hall. She can sense the dream version of the Empress of Alternia behind them, and she knows the Empress can sense her in turn. Her Imperious Condescension has been waiting patiently for her to enter, curious.
    
              She takes a deep breath, knowing she may only have one chance at this.
    
              The doors open slowly and of their own accord, producing ominous groans that announce her arrival to a glorious gilt hall, no doubt built on the backs of slaves. And just as designed, sitting at the center of a fantasized civilization fitted to her epithet is The Condesce. She reclines in a throne of fuchsia and gold, one leg folded neatly over the other and her cheek perched on the curve of her slender fingers.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              Aranea looks into cruel dark eyes and recalls the snapping of her own neck.
    
              She’s barely three steps into the room and she’s already frozen in fear. When she opens her mouth, she can’t find her voice. Her hesitation draws a sneer from pink lips.
    
              “Neva sean you befo,” The Condesce comments smoothly. When Aranea doesn’t respond, the sneer curves back to expose white, pointed teeth. Behind that Cheshire grin, the younger troll can sense a patience that’s already wearing thin. “Ya got somefin fo me, lil’ gill?”
    
              Aranea swallows, does her best to seem confident despite how much she’s terrified. But there’s some strength to her voice when she says, “Posshipbly. I’ve come with a porpoisition.”
    
              The Condesce’s brow quirks at this, amused.
    
              “Ooh, look at you. Usin’ fish puns and ship,” she hums. With her free hand, she gestures Aranea to come closer. The latter obeys, gradually regaining her bearing. She halts a respectable distance away this time, close enough for the Empress to reach out and poke her with her trident if she so chose. Luckily, that doesn’t happen. Instead, The Condesce grins wider. “Yeah, I like somefin ‘bout you. Go ahead then. Shell it to me, angelfish,” she purrs.
    
              “Whale,” the other begins carefully. There’s some comfort in Her Imperious Condescension’s clear enjoyment in her continued use of fish puns. She takes a moment to appreciate her moirail for preparing her for this, then continues with, “I undersand you may be angling for your master’s execution.”
    
              This time, both of The Condesce’s eyebrows raise while her smile vanishes, probably stunned by such a bold assertion.
    
              But after what feels like an eternity, she says, “...I’m listenin’.” 
    

> [Dirk: Pester chum.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/48771488#workskin)


	3. Dirk: Pester chum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention this story is Jake-centric?
> 
> ...No?
> 
> That's fine. I'm sure it was already obvious despite the first two pages.
    
    
    timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering golgothasTerror [GT] at 12:34
    
    
    TT: Sup.
    GT: Oh.
    GT: Uh hello there.
    GT: If you dont terribly mind me asking...
    GT: Who are you?
    TT: That’s a hell of a question. Who are any of us really?
    TT: As much as I’ve postulated reasons for the sick string of misfortune constantly shaping the crisis of existence and identity, present conjecture begs I spare you from that long but admittedly kickass pitch of rad philosophical quiddities. My guess is that you’re looking for the basest of base answers.
    TT: It’s almost poetic that in exchanging my name, I’m essentially giving you nothing of definition.
    TT: But hey, I’ll bite.
    TT: I’m Dirk Strider.
    GT: Gadzooks!
    GT: I must admit thats a lot to ingest right off the bat!
    GT: You have my gratitude for deciphering my query to its truest intent but youve grappled my curiosities and id be most rapt to hear what you have to say about the meaning of life under different circumstances.
    GT: For now ill pop a pin in it.
    GT: Fancy meeting you mister strider! As an eye for an eye or in this case an introduction for an introduction my name is jake english.
    GT: Might i know how you got ahold of my chumhandle?
    TT: Hope you don’t mind that I acquired it from a mutual friend.
    TT: I’m told you’ve already been acquainted with uranianUmbra?
    GT: Oh of course!
    GT: The fine miss that reached out to me a couple weeks ago.
    GT: Weve only exchanged pleasantries once but she imparted such strange things i dont think i could ever forget her.
    GT: So youre chums then?
    TT: Sure. You could put it that way.
    GT: Good enough for me.
    GT: How are you mister strider?
    TT: Dude, skip the formalities. Just call me Dirk.
    GT: Right-o dirk!
    GT: I suppose i should return the favor eh? From here on well be on a first name basis.
    TT: Cool.
    TT: I’d be lying if I described myself to be anything more or less than generally okay.
    TT: Things are going as abhorrently linear to straight up insipid as I can stand to swallow.
    TT: Not to mention the atmosphere itself is downright oppressing.
    TT: You could say it’s a little...
    TT: Post-apocalyptic.
    GT: Im not sure I follow you.
    TT: Just a saying where I’m from.
    TT: I haven’t been out of my apartment for a while.
    GT: :o
    GT: Why not?
    TT: Never really had a reason to leave.
    TT: I have everything I need right here.
    GT: Appreciate what you already have then? At the very least you sound like a well prepped gent.
    GT: I like that humble attitude!
    GT: Though i cant say im the same.
    GT: No matter how many movies i watch or how many experiences im lucky enough to scrounge up it never seems to be quite enough for me.
    GT: I have more things to do than i can even count and i feel like i have so little time to accomplish any of it!
    TT: I believe the tool you’re searching for is a planner.
    TT: Next time you visit your local convenience store, I suggest you request the neatest design of itinerary needs so you won’t get lost leafing through your own agenda.
    TT: Just remember you’re not the only one suffocating under sizzling mounds of prodigious opportunity.
    TT: Kids like you get that kind of feeling all the time, I’m sure.
    GT: They do?
    GT: That makes me feel a tad better.
    GT: Sometimes i cant help but sit there and wonder how different i probably am from all the other folks my age.
    GT: Do you ever get that feeling dirk?
    TT: Yeah, sometimes.
    TT: Not that I’m feeling particularly contrite.
    TT: No sense jacking someone else’s swagger when you can just make your own.
    GT: Agreed!
    GT: I must say i find a bit of comfort in being unique.
    TT: As you should, dude.
    TT: Take it from me. We need to embrace the shit that makes us weird.
    GT: Wise advice makes a wise fellow.
    GT: I hope youll spare this moggie from an untimely death and i beg your pardon if it seems a bit forward but i must know.
    GT: Where do you live?
    TT: Consider your moggie spared.
    TT: Look at that lively motherfucker, frolicking in fields, getting all up in moggie hijinks, and doing whatever it is moggies do when they’re not pushing up all manner of flowers. Just another crisp helping of life served on a silver plate of not-yet-dead.
    TT: There’s no shame in being curious. This is what talking to strangers is all about so feel free to pose as many prying questions as your synapses can fire.
    TT: I hope it quenches his knowledge thirst to hear I live in a quaint little ocean city called Houston, Texas.
    GT: Thats in good old america right?
    GT: Cant say ive been there.
    TT: Neither can I, really.
    GT: But...
    TT: I don’t get out much, remember?
    GT: Which is a gosh darned shame!
    GT: Dirk strider if we ever meet the first thing we need to do is go on an adventure together.
    TT: An adventure, huh?
    TT: I just might take you up on that.
    GT: Then a pair we would make! I practically live for adventure!!!
    GT: It just so happens that im lucky enough to live on an island where i can get my fair share.
    TT: You live on an island?
    GT: Yessir.
    GT: If you dont mind me stealing your saying theres a bit of a “post-apocalyptic” feel here as well.
    TT: Why’s that?
    GT: There are no other people on my island.
    GT: Its just me.
    TT: You live alone?
    GT: As sure as the dickens.
    GT: I moved here with my grandma when i was pretty young.
    GT: Not to roll in the doldrums but it wasnt long after that she died and i was left to my own devices.
    TT: Well shit.
    TT: Guess it’s a bit late to say I’m sorry for your loss.
    GT: I cant really remember how it was like living with her. Just bits and pieces here and there.
    GT: I was such a wee lad that my memory of her is rather hazy.
    TT: How old were you?
    GT: Five maybe? Im not altogether sure how old i was when i found her body and tossed her to the pyre.
    GT: You kind of lose track of the years after a while.
    GT: I feel like the only reason im even aware of how old i am now is thanks to my dear friend jane.
    GT: Bless her soul.
    GT: What i DO know is that im glad i got to her before the other inhabitants could seize the opportunity to feast on her remains.
    TT: The other inhabitants?
    GT: Theres a bunch of beasts that live on my island. Im not too privy on what to call them since most appear to be boggled hybrids of actual animals.
    GT: Nor can i say im too chuffed about being on the wrong end of the hunt any time i venture out for a stroll.
    GT: But even though im not terribly fond of their kind i cant really complain...
    GT: Never a dull day on hellmurder island, as my grandma used to say!
    TT: I won’t lie. That sounds metal as fuck.
    TT: And here I feared with your inconsistent phrasing and inapt pep that you were either a credulous, sheltered pseud or an amateur troll.
    TT: But you’re actually fairly interesting.
    GT: Jeez you dont hold back do you?
    GT: I dont know whether to feel insulted or flattered!
    TT: Shit.
    TT: Sorry.
    TT: That could’ve used a little more finesse, huh?
    GT: Though appreciated no sorry required. I actually admire your blunt and brash.
    GT: Its refreshing!
    TT: Refreshing how? You’ve apparently lived alone since you were five.
    GT: Steady strider.
    GT: Best not to ruin the moment.
    TT: Fair enough.
    TT: I’d be all about chatting more but I gotta out-busy some bees or I won’t be able to sleep tonight.
    GT: Aw drat those felonious insects!
    TT: Whoa. Language there, bro.
    GT: Sorry.
    GT: I feel like we were just getting down and dirty with all this chumminess blooming between us.
    TT: Word.
    TT: On that note, I’d be down for pullulating more buds of chum in the future if you are.
    GT: Down like a clown holding a particular brand of peanuts!
    GT: Id found myself bursting my buttonholes to request the same.
    GT: You know what they say about great minds and such.
    GT: *double pistols and a wink*
    TT: Man, I barely understood that mildly threatening but hopefully ironic reference you just made but I’m sure it’s the dopest saying where you’re from.
    GT: Which one?
    TT: I’ll let you take your pick.
    TT: Hit you up tomorrow then?
    GT: Any time you want to chat you scallywag.
    TT: Cool.
    TT: Later, Jake.
    GT: Bye dirk!
    timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering golgothasTerror [GT]
    

  
  

    
    
              Your name is Dirk Strider, and you push back from your desk with a sigh before resigning to rub at your tired eyes.
    
              For your first conversation with a human other than the only other surviving person on the planet, you suppose it could’ve gone worse. That doesn’t mean you don’t stew over how you totally panicked and shoved your foot in your mouth the moment he asked you who you were. God, what even _was_ that answer? Instead of a name, your fingers blurted out an existential crisis he definitely didn’t ask for, and the guy fucking took it in stride! Was he being nice or is he just an idiot? You have no idea.
    
              Regardless of your painful blunder, there’s a bit of relief after getting it over with. You had your doubts about talking to this kid, but it turns out he’s kinda cool, in a dorky kind of way. You almost regret the fact that you were initially short with him, and then went on to interrogate the poor guy. But hey, it’s important to learn about who you’d be forced to associate with when you flew yourselves face-first into the deepest shit ever, of all time. If your sources are correct, which you’re pretty certain they are considering said sources are actually just one source and that one source is a self-proclaimed troll alien girl from outer space who has been more or less right about everything so far, the other kid you’re set up to meet is already one of Jake English’s friends—probably the “Jane” he mentioned. And knowing what you all are meant to be getting yourselves into, that makes everything so much easier.
    
              And this Jake guy ended up quite a lot more interesting than was previously expected. You anticipated a typical kid from a happy, normal family to be bitter about, but as it turns out, he’s almost as isolated as you are. His story sounded a bit farfetched, but you’d found yourself believing him because he just seemed so painfully... sincere.
    
              It’s a first for your skeptical ass. It really is.
    
              You’d like to think that your unnatural receptiveness is due to all the crazy shit you’ve already seen, read, and experienced here as well as on your dream planet Derse. But giving it some thought, you know how the Earth was four centuries ago before the Batterwitch served her hearty helpings of fucked up shit across the globe: really fucking uneventful. Knowing that, Jake English had somehow successfully snuck past the cynic in you without so much as a second glance with his quirky speech and peculiar brand of politeness. What the fuck is up with that?
    
              You must be losing your grip. Get it together, Strider.
    
              Your train of thought is momentarily interrupted by a Pesterchum ping. You hesitate, but then decide it’s best to answer your chum.
    
    
    
    
    tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 13:02
    
    
    TG: di stri! <3
    TG: talk 2 whatsisfcae yt?
    TT: Please tell me you at least waited until it was past noon to get drunk off your ass again.
    TG: im nt drukn
    TG: *drunk
    TT: You have successfully convinced me that you are 100% not drunk.
    TG: man ur such a friggn buzzkill
    TT: Roxy, we’re eleven.
    TG: whas ur piont?
    TT: Not sure, honestly. A part of me felt like it needed to be stated.
    TT: Maybe if there was still some sense of rational law in place, what I just said might’ve meant something.
    TT: But seeing as we both very literally raised ourselves, telling you we’re probably not mature enough to fuck with certain things would be a load of horseshit.
    TT: So keep on keeping on, I guess.
    TT: But as your friend I need to ask: don’t you think you’ve been going a little hard lately?
    TG: look at u
    TG: all carin n sht
    TG: dont wry im jst havin a lil fun
    TG: its feckin borin bein teh last wmaon on earfg
    TG: *earth
    TG: now r u goin 2 answr my quetsion or not?
    TT: Yeah. We talked.
    TG: oohh was it excitn?
    TG: *exciyin
    TG: shit 
    TT: As exciting as talking to a guy who lived four centuries in the past can be.
    TT: And I say that with as little sarcasm as possible.
    TG: did u mnetion tht you libe 4 centries in the future?
    TT: So he can think I’m a mental institute escapee who somehow scored some Pesterchum access to spread word that the end is nigh?
    TT: Totally.
    TG: well if uou didnt cut 2 the chaes wut did u tell him?
    TG: he mustve questsioned how u gt his chumhanlde if anythinh
    TT: I told him the truth: UU threw it my way.
    TT: He was pretty satisfied with that, surprisingly enough.
    TT: I dropped a few hints of our time difference, but I don’t think he picked up much from what I was putting down.
    TT: Which I guess is fine. Probably best not to hit him with the hard stuff before we’re all super tight.
    TT: Though my expectations of that actually happening are pretty low. Then again, being the last two humans on Earth, we’re facing an extreme case of beggars can’t be choosers.
    TG: /??
    TG: thats unusual
    TT: What is?
    TG: no ironci complaint?
    TG: no extended sarcondic metpaphor 2 summarize how the conversation went?
    TG: fuck
    TG: *sardonic
    TG: *metaphor
    TT: *ironic
    TG: thank
    TT: Can I not be straight as a god damn ruler with you for once since the beginning of this star-crossed solidarity?
    TT: Lalonde, you have thoroughly Titanic’d the fuck out of the trust barge we’ve been using to drift in this shitty ocean of racial extinction aftershock and Batter-Bitch mayhem.
    TT: Now I have to suffer the hells a freezing ocean temperatures so you can survive on evidently the only shitty piece of floating sanctuary fate with its sick mind had to offer.
    TT: And Spoiler Alert: You fucking let me go.
    TG: no dirk!
    TG: thats nt fairr!!
    TT: Take the extended sardonic metaphors you asked for like a woman.
    TG: but i woudl never let u go :(
    TT: Thanks, Rox.
    TT: I wouldn’t let you go either.
    TG: <3
    TG: so wuts this mysfery guys name?
    TT: Jake English.
    TG: englshh??
    TG: thts... ironic?
    TT: Tell me about it.
    TG: u dont think theres a connection do u?
    TT: I don’t know. I didn’t pry into his name.
    TT: If we want answers, we’ll probably have more luck talking to UU again.
    TG: ok well while were on that topic
    TG: imma ask u again
    TG: do we rlly think takin advice frm an alien b a gud idea tho?
    TG: lyk dnt get me wrong she super flippin cute
    TG: bt all the shit shes said got sketch all ovr it.
    TG: wat even is the deal w this game she mnetiond?
    TG: and the fact tht we have 2 wait like 4 yrs to play it??
    TT: I know it sounds like bad news, but honestly, what other choice do we have?
    TT: The world is about as dead as it’s going to get. If this game is our only means of salvation, don’t you want to give it a chance?
    TT: Besides, UU hasn’t given us a reason to distrust her. And unless you got some friends hidden like little prizes in your bottles of wine, we’re not exactly neck-deep in allies that aren’t centuries departed.
    TT: I mean, the fact that I just talked to another human that definitely wasn’t you for the very first time means she wasn’t lying about the Trollian chat client she gave us voiding time restrictions, so I think we should give her some credit.
    TG: mmkay u got me there
    TG: still iffy but thats all totes valid
    TG: can confirm the dude you hit up wasnt me.
    TT: Speaking of, she gave you this other person’s handle already, right?
    TG: mhmm
    TG: gutsygumshoe, so cute.
    TT: I’m surprised you didn’t misspell that.
    TT: Sobering up?
    TG: a lil bit.
    TG: sigh
    TT: I don’t think I’ve ever asked, but where the hell did you get such a shitload of alcohol?
    TT: Did your mom leave you with a whole wine cellar or something?
    TG: p much!
    TG: nd u no how they say wine only gets better w age ;3
    TG: i would share it w the carapcaes but they all xtra liteweight
    TG: and by liteweight i mean 1 glass is enough 2 knock em out.
    TT: I guess it’s the thought that counts.
    TT: You’ve been appearifying food for them anyway.
    TG: mhmm!
    TT: Alright well, I need to go take care of some stuff.
    TT: Try and get in touch with UU while I’m off.
    TT: I have a feeling she’s not telling us a lot.
    TG: roger!
    TT: I’ll hit you up in a little bit.
    TG: bye!!!
    timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG]
    

> [==>](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/48773192#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How does one draw... an eleven year-old. Never seen one.


	4. ==>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: If a page is less than a 1000 words, I'll be posting it with the page before or after it eyyy.
> 
> This fic also updates every week so there's that. Let's see if I can keep up with my shitty art, eheheheh.
    
    
              It’s about a year later when you’re at the ripe old age of twelve that you find out you’ve developed your first real crush.
    
              And this is only you _finding_ out about it (“I just know you’ll sock it to the stars because I believe in you!” he’d said, and your heart rate sped up so much you couldn’t dismiss it as anything else). As soon as it hits you, you wonder how long it’s been plaguing you. The absent-minded smiles you fail to notice yourself making have already been going on for a couple months. You’ve started to whistle while tinkering with your robotics projects, and rather than reading about the history you should’ve been catching up on so you could keep up this façade of living four centuries in the past, you catch yourself daydreaming of it being true instead. You remember the first time you were blessed with putting a face to the name. More accurately, you remember the heat that swiftly enveloped you in what you were horrified to realize was a full-body blush when he exchanged his first picture with you. It’s positively shocking that you didn’t put it together right there. To be fair, you were too busy ogling how absurdly adorable this boy was named Jake fucking English.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              No twelve-year-old had any business being that unapologetically charming, especially not one that was such a goof. Ugh, just look at that overbite!
    
              But you’re simply a bro admiring your fellow bro. What even is the deal?
    
              Jake’s friend, sure enough, introduces herself as Jane Crocker, and at the first hint, you can see she has feelings for the little Englishman. You dismiss the possessiveness that has taken hold of you as reasonable since Jake English having a girlfriend could take away from him being your best friend–a title you’re proud to have earned since the time he called you his “number one chum”—despite how very unreasonable that thought process inarguably is.
    
              It’s Roxy that finally makes you suck it up and acknowledge it for what it is, and she doesn’t even mean to. You can’t take it back when she teases, “dude u r soooo head ovr heels 4 jake its realyl cute” and your genius compulsive reply is “Yeah, I know.” Luckily, she’s either too drunk or thinks you’re joking because she laughs it off and continues the conversation like you didn’t just blatantly confess you are smitten.
    
              You’d like to say you accepted your attraction to your bro reasonably quickly.
    
              You’d like to say it took maybe like three days, a week tops.
    
              In reality, you end up suffering an entire stressful month of inner turmoil because let’s face it, you haven’t the faintest idea of how to deal with this kind of shit. Not once in any of the video records your Bro left behind for you did he touch on the possibility of you becoming infatuated with another human being. No, his virtual ass is wholly absent from delivering insightful, sick raps about birds and bees, leaving you to try and figure out this cluster of shitfuckery on your own. If he was anything like you, the dude probably absconded from that idea without a second thought, and you can’t really blame him. You spend an embarrassing amount of time scouring the internet for answers to questions you don’t even know you should have, schooling yourself on dopamine, norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin, and vasopressin. You figure out the science behind the “what’s” and end up still knowing jack-shit about the “why’s” or “how’s”. And on top of all that, you had to learn that four hundred years ago, there were apparently different types of sexualities?? So, because you’re a boy with feelings for another boy, you’re a “homosexual” all of a sudden. But why the hell would _that_ matter? And why was it considered so abnormal by the general populace?
    
              Will Jake think you’re weird if you tell him...?
    
              By the time you sort as much as you can out in an alphabetized little corner of issues in the much larger problem library of your juvenile mind, you realize you’ve concurrently drawn up an entire set of blueprints for Brobot: a sparring android made specifically for Jake since he expressed to you his love for “scrums” as he called them.
    
              You’re barely thirteen and you’re in too deep.
    
              At least this project might distract you from bashing your head into the sendificator your Bro left behind.
    
              Which you definitely haven’t been doing, by the way.
    
              Nor do you do it between now and when you finally finish constructing and sendificating Jake the pieces for Brobot. You know, since you were sufficiently distracted and all.
    
              Definitely not.
    
              Not too long later, you invent your Auto-Responder. It’s an accident really. At least, when you look back on it years from now, you’ll like to think so. When you make the captcha of your brain and later decide to splice it with what you reason is the most logical AI hosting device you have lying around at the time—one of your many pairs of cool-ass shades—you shrug and say to yourself, “What could go wrong?”
    
              The reality is that you had realized you were having a hard time talking to your chums when you were so busy trying to prepare for your session while overseeing activity on Derse. Not to mention, you were itching for a proper verbal sparring partner, and if the only choice was yourself, then you thought, ‘So be it’. So again, turning this crazy copy of your cerebrum into an AI seemed like an all-around good idea. After some programming, it was statistically supposed to give responses as accurate to your own as possible while it collected social data to evolve.
    
              Suffice to say, you didn’t quite expect it to seize every opportunity to broadcast your malformed egotistical fuck-ass of an identity in your face near nonstop. 
    
              Or harass the object of your stumbling affections for the next two years.
    
              But “What could go wrong?” you had said.
    
              When you enter the Medium with your friends, you decide “What could go wrong?” is the dumbest rhetorical question you have asked yourself in the history of asking yourself dumb rhetorical questions. Ever. Of all time.
    

> [Dirk: Enter the Medium.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/49093178#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing my bespacito.


	5. Dirk: Enter the Medium.


              Your name is Dirk Strider, and Jake English has just made out with your severed head.
    
              You know it had to happen in order for you to save Jane and Roxy, but it doesn’t stop the butterflies from flapping hard enough to summon whirlwinds in your stomach. Jake looks at the three of you in utter horror. If it weren’t for his helmet, you probably would’ve been able to see the confusion and possible grief in his eyes. _God_, you wish he wasn’t wearing it so you could see his entire face in all its ludicrously handsome glory. But you take what you can get because what you can see is solid reaffirmation that pictures simply do not do justice to this already fine-ass dude not quite at the cusp of manhood. What you assume to be your blood is dribbling from the corner of his mouth, and you think that maybe the whole scene is probably more morbid than anything, considering his hands are also drenched in liquid Dirk from where he’s holding the base of your severed neck. Now that you think about it, you feel a bit like a freak for not being put off by the image of someone embracing your own amputation, especially when the girls are more than likely sporting rather horrified and confounded looks of their own behind you.
    
              Regardless, you don’t acknowledge how fucked up you’ve already been realizing you kind of are and instead do your damnedest not to feel hurt when Jake tosses it up like it’s _not_ the precious severed head of his dead best friend.
    
              You may be freaking out a little.
    
              Okay, so maybe the reason you’re directing your focus on your hyper-fixation on Jake is probably to distract you from the aftershock of all that insane pirouetting off the fucking handle you just somehow pulled off. So maybe the twitterpated butterflies in your stomach are a shitty excuse for the very real tornadoes of anxiety threatening to wrack your nerves because despite all the planning, so much of the crazy shit that happened in the last twenty minutes was a combination of improvisation, the AR giving you split-second directives, and a desperate confidence that whatever it was you were doing would work and you’d all enter the Medium in one piece.
    
              Well. Mostly.
    
              You glance at the mess of blood and blond near Jake’s feet and remember how you trembled as you slowly lowered the sendificator over your head. You almost reach up to graze your fingers across your neck. It happened so fast; you can barely recall the instance of pain. You weren’t given the time to think, to be _terrified_.
    
              You do the Strider motion of shaking it off, by which you mean you do no motion at all and instead refocus on Jake in a weird, anxious attempt to calm yourself down.
    
              Despite how hopeful you are that this incident might lead to something else worth a few eyebrow wiggles, as wild of an assumption as that is, the moment is commandeered by both him and Jane justifiably freaking out and babbling incoherently while Roxy fucks off somewhere to the side on her phone, leaving both you and your AR-sporting severed head to do damage control. Jane has her small hands tightly fisted in the soft cloth of your Derse pajamas and she looks a bit like a tomato, sputtering flustered nonsense while shaking you so violently, you’re shocked your shades haven’t flown off. It could be that she’s completely coherent, but you can’t hear her over the whirring of your own overclocked brain cage. The drives in your head are buzzing too loudly, trying to process the scene you just watched so you can burn it and save it deep inside your memory cache where it can be treasured always. You might’ve also forgotten that you even possess the ability to communicate through something other than text—y’know, a voice to say words and such. That’s how normal people socialize, right?
    
              You fail to say anything until Roxy eventually comes over and paps both Jane and Jake until they’re well pacified. She gently detaches Jane from your chest while you watch, grateful but completely lost as to how to show it properly, so you settle for a small nod that she may or may not have noticed. You take a minute to admire how personable she is, in spite of her similar lack of human contact prior to all of this. She must owe it to the chess people.
    
              When they all ultimately look to you for instruction on your next move, you shrug.
    
              Once you all actually enter, you just gotta... wait, you guess. Collect grist and wait. Also, there was something about building to reach the Seven Gates and maybe fighting your denizens? You’ll have to get back to them on that last part. It’s humiliating because you’ve spent nearly five years preparing for the events surrounding this stupid game and you know you know all the objectives involved, poured over so many different stratagems and compared their respective probabilities toward a void session’s victory, but your brain is too overloaded to recall properly.
    
              You appreciate that they accept this half-assed answer without barraging you with questions because something would’ve collapsed in your head if you’d forced your processors to work any harder. They’ll simply have to wait until you’re adjusted.
    
              Not having to simultaneously control a separate dream conscious 24-7 is certainly a new development. The change is assuasive as much as it is disorienting.
    
              The four of you just kind of stand around each other after that while Jake alchemizes his artifact, strangely unconcerned with the erupting volcano looming over you. Even with Roxy’s calming presence, the air between you is filled with social awkwardness. None of you really know how to talk to each other when it’s not through a computer screen, though the girls fare much better than you and Jake do, which makes sense. Jane is the most socially mature while Roxy speaks like she’s grown up around people rather than carapaces. They hit it off immediately while you and Jake kinda just... watch from the sidelines until Roxy or Jane cues one of you in. You’re surprised to see Jake this quiet during your first ever meeting, but then it hits you that he might be a bit traumatized from recent events. You try to will the thought into his brain that you understand, because you’re a bit traumatized too.
    
              Regardless, the reunion is short-lived; you collectively decide to abscond to your own planets and settle in upon finally entering the session. It’s hilarious that after being so sick of being alone, you completely short circuit the minute you’re not.
    

> [==>](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/49094021#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No art for this page. Partially because I was a lazy bitch this week, partially because I didn't know what the fuck to draw from it. Any suggestions???


	6. ==>


              Two days pass...
    
              It’s a bit anticlimactic, really. You kind of expected some tearful bro embraces amongst the four of you, but that didn’t happen at all. Although that’s probably partially your fault. When Roxy invited you over, you politely declined, saying you were busy figuring shit out. She tried to lure you out by saying “Jakes gon b here *waggles brows suggetsivly*” and to her credit, it almost worked. Unfortunately, you were too stubborn to eat your pride and take her up on the offer. You do feel a bit guilty, because despite all that self-loathing telling you otherwise, you’re sure your friends want to see you—_especially_ Roxy. You’re afraid that if you let them, they’ll see how much of a shit person you’ve slowly realized you are.
    
              Jane messages you a couple times too, usually to ask questions about the game. She doesn’t pry into your business too much like Roxy does, which you can appreciate. For the most part, she’s kept her distance. In fact, she’s been acting a bit standoffish as of late, and you wonder why. Did it start before or after you entered the Medium? You can’t remember. Maybe it’s because she has yet to find her dad. Either way, you’ll try to slip it into your next conversation with her.
    
              Jake messages you the most.
    
              Not that you’re complaining.
    
              Speak of the devil.
    
    
    
    
    golgothasTerror [GT]  began pestering  timaeusTestified [TT]
    
    
     
              Just before you can read the message however, another chat window pops up, effectively and, to your annoyance, very much intentionally obscuring the first. You inwardly groan but proceed to answer both conversations.
    
    
    
    
      
    
    TT: Bro.
    TT: Be cool.
    TT: I can practically feel you vibrating in excitement.
    TT: Do you mind?
    TT: I do, actually. You vibrate any harder, you’re gonna set yourself on fire.
    TT: And I’ll be the collateral damage.
    TT: Don’t tempt me.
    TT: Please. We both know you wouldn’t do anything to inhibit all this attention you’ve been getting from you-know-who.
    TT: Since entering the session, that dude’s been all over you like a fly on a pony’s plump left buttock.
    TT: So he’s a bit more talkative than usual. So what?
    TT: If you have a point, just make it.
    TT: No point, really. There’s nothing to mention that you yourself wouldn’t have noticed already.
    TT: Can’t I just be happy for you?
    TT: You’re so full of shit.
    TT: If that were true, you wouldn’t be so eager to pop in every time he messaged me to flaunt your two cents like a warning label.
    TT: For a supercomputer, you sure like to jump to conclusions without the slightest bit of supporting evidence.
    TT: Are you serious?
    TT: That cuts me deep, man.
    TT: But don’t act like you haven’t detected major vibes of Mack City, current population: 1 Jake English.
    TT: Well, also 1 Roxy Lalonde, but you keep denying her request for residency because her levels of estrogen are too high or something.
    TT: Poor girl has resigned to a pitched tent somewhere outside city limits while Jake over here just moved in and popped position as fuckin’ mayor.
    TT: Dude.
    TT: Look, I’m only worried for your safety.
    TT: Your bro is thirsty af.
    TT: 4 real.
    TT: Stop talking to Roxy. Chatspeak doesn’t suit you.
    TT: You’re not cute.
    TT: You created me for the sole purpose of socializing and absorbing the speech habits of you and your friends.
    TT: Are you really telling me to suppress my one reason for existing?
    TT: I’m telling you to go fuck yourself.
    TT: You’re in a particularly foul mood today.
    TT: Not really.
    TT: I just don’t take kindly to when you’re clearly trying to annoy me.
    TT: Now who’s jumping to conclusions?
    TT: Sometimes I think you construe the sincere interest I have in your life as some sort of roundabout self-sabotage.
    TT: Which would be ridiculous, by the way. Why would I sabotage literally my only source of entertainment? So far, my one path in life as a self-aware hyper-evolving artificial intelligence is to live vicariously through you.
    TT: So as many times as it takes, I’ll remind you that I am a version of you, created by you, and just like you, approximately 87.531% of my actions are more or less based in irony, not evil. The gist here is that I’m not out to get you, so how about you chill with that constant paranoia you got going on?
    TT: But I digress. It seems like you’re not in what I would peg as a sociable state of mind.
    TT: Should I pop in and tell Jake you’re busy?
    TT: No!
    TT: You jump into this conversation now and he’s gonna think the whole thing is you fucking with him.
    TT: Shit.
    TT: Ugh.
    TT: Just,
    TT: Chill. Okay?
    TT: I need to think and I need you to stop talking.
    TT: Can do.
    TT: Good luck, bro. I’m rooting for you.
    TT: Sure.
    TT: Thanks.
    
    
    
     
              Now that your AR has finally left you alone, you can focus on your concurrent conversation with Jake. The whole pesterlog reads as:
    
    
    
    
      
    
    GT: Dirk!
    TT: Jake.
    GT: How ya been mate?
    GT: It seems like i havent talked to you in ages!
    TT: We talked yesterday morning.
    TT: You also messaged me like four times the day before that.
    TT: Don’t tell me you’ve come down with a case of the Strider blues already.
    GT: Oh phooey to your absurdly accurate memory.
    GT: Im just excited is all!
    TT: Might I ask why?
    GT: Surely its obvious!
    TT: Honest to Yaldabro, I’ve got no idea what you could possibly be excited about.
    TT: I’m in the dark, dude.
    TT: Enlighten me.
    GT: Alright you cheeky douchemuffin. If you wanna keep twisting my friggin arm then ill break it down...
    GT: We all got to meet in person for the first time only a couple days ago.
    GT: And even now were not but a 15 minute travel distance from each others houses thanks to some inscrutable fenagling in the cosmos that permits us to jump between celestial bodies like were playing bloody hopscotch.
    GT: You know how much ive been raring to go on the biggest adventures with you guys?
    GT: Suddenly its all possible!
    TT: Well, seeing as we’re all already on a type of adventure right now, what with playing this life-threatening game and all, it looks like everything’s playing out quite well for you.
    GT: Har har! Is your head jealous of how clever your rectum is?
    TT: Sometimes.
    GT: Good gravy. Youre really dedicated to diddling this out of me arent you?
    TT: Gotta say, I’m thoroughly enjoying your phrasing today.
    TT: I’m pretty partial to douchemuffin, to be honest.
    GT: Blast your pretty partialities strider!!
    GT: I dont know about you but im not too keen on sitting around twiddling my thumbs all day.
    TT: So what do you suggest we do in the meantime?
    GT: Well you havent been to my planet dirk. Or i to yours.
    GT: Nor have we been to janes or roxys or vice versa.
    GT: Isnt it about time we visit each other?
    GT: Here ill start.
    GT: Hey dirk! Would you be interested in visiting my humble land of mounds and xenon?
    TT: Wait. I thought you all hung out the other day. Roxy hit me up, but I was busy.
    GT: Oh quite right. She shot me an invitation but...
    TT: But...?
    GT: Erm.
    GT: Well i declined.
    GT: With my sincerest apologies of course.
    GT: Because i did feel awfully guilty about turning the old girl down truly.
    TT: Why?
    GT: I dont know.
    GT: I guess I felt a bit... intimidated?
    GT: Cheese and stupid crackers you know i love the girls to bits but i didnt feel i was equipped to rodeo with them yet.
    GT: At least not without you there.
    TT: Oh.
    GT: Not to say anything against the feminine half of our hearty little fellowship but i just feel like id be most comfortable with my best bro nearby.
    TT: Hm.
    GT: Frig. Was that the wrong thing to say?
    TT: Sorry. I’m multitasking.
    GT: Ah.
    GT: Well color me thick i should know better by now to presume youre actually elbow-deep in tasks that actually warrant action! Instead of goofing around aimlessly with me like a pair of rugged rascals simply to humor my frivolous whims.
    GT: I suppose that means i should leave you to it then.
    TT: No, dude. You’re fine.
    TT: That was,
    TT: Forget it.
    TT: We can keep talking.
    TT: Or I guess you were inviting me over just now.
    TT: Is that what’s happening?
    GT: Darn tootin!
    GT: If you aint too busy to come entertain your best bro i mean.
    TT: I suppose I can fit it into my schedule.
    GT: Dont i feel important!
    TT: You should.
    TT: I’m a pretty busy fucking guy.
    TT: I have a shitload of imperatively important stuff to deal with,
    TT: And the masses are following me everywhere just to get a word or two from this V.I.P.
    TT: But even in a life bustling with work, drama, and a tragic family mystery waiting to be solved, I can always make time for the man of my life.
    GT: Eheheheh.
    GT: Man of your life eh?
    TT: You heard me.
    TT: That’s my best bro of all time. A+ guy. Man of my fucking life right there.
    GT: It seems a blush of flattery is creeping up on my cheeks.
    GT: I have deduced that theres only one chap able to tug that from my manly core!
    GT: Dirk strider everyone!
    TT: Holy shit. What’s that?
    TT: All this passionate bromance is bringing a tear to my stone cold pupillary sphincter.
    TT: The gods must be sobbing with such a heavenly hecking exchange taking place between two human beings because those immortal fuckers know they could never compare.
    GT: But wait!
    GT: Do i detect a spot of jealousy in their eyes?
    TT: Hell yeah, you do.
    TT: This shit’s about to go down like Atlantis.
    TT: Hope you brought some kind of breathing apparatus because we’re fittin’ to drown in the saltiest sea of divine resentment.
    GT: Shucks buster! What kind of adventurer would i be if i forgot something so essential?
    TT: A dead one, I presume.
    GT: And there you have it folks.
    GT: Thats why i have you!
    GT: Now get your ass over here and go on a bloody adventure with the man of your life.
    TT: Can’t argue with an invitation like that.
    TT: Alright, bro. I’ll be on my way over in like 15 minutes.
    GT: Hoorah!
    GT: See you soon!
    timaeusTestified [TT]   ceased pestering   golgothasTerror [GT]
    
    
    
     
              Damn.
    
              Your heart’s beating too fast; there’s no way you can deny how happy you are after that conversation (you actively ignore the one you had with your AR, who obviously has no idea what the hell he’s talking about). You lean back from the gas mask you were tampering with before Jake messaged you until the back of your head hits the wall you’ve been sitting against. You suppose this project can wait. After a moment, you stand to place it next to the one you made yesterday. When he visits, you hope it fits him properly.
    
    
    
    
    

> [Dirk: Visit LOMAX.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/49278035#workskin)


	7. Dirk: Visit LOMAX.


              Not even ten minutes later are you on your Rocket Board to Jake’s planet. You’ll be five minutes early but you’re sure he won’t mind. You made the wise decision of leaving the AR at home, instructing it to answer Roxy or Jane if they needed you; it was surprisingly compliant. With your normal, not artificially intelligent shades, you use Jake’s skull helmet to pinpoint his location and find him a few minutes after hitting the atmosphere. It looks like he’s just finished fighting off a horde of Underlings when you land and throw your board somewhere inside your Sylladex.
    
              You stumble a bit when your feet hit the ground because it’s a much softer landing than you were expecting. You’re glad he hasn’t noticed you yet while you examine this strange lush greenness that appears to cover his entire planet. If Jake’s been running around on it, you assume it’s safe to stand on. You throw it one last glance (because seriously, what the fuck is it?) before taking careful steps in your bro’s direction. As you approach, you notice he’s decked himself out in a dark green vest and a pair of short-shorts that are just shy of being sinful to look at (the shame doesn’t stop you from stealing some glances at what appears to be a very plush rump, indeed). You’re only six yards away from him when he whips around, pistols raised. 
    
              Your hands shoot up in surrender. You must admit, the sight of him is a _bit_ terrifying with that crazy eyed skull helmet staring you down.
    
              “Whoa, bro. It’s me,” you placate, keeping your cool.
    
              It takes only a second or two for Jake to raise his head with a dawning smile of recognition. He practically tosses his helmet aside after sliding the guns into his thigh holsters (God! Thigh holsters!!!), then runs at you with such fervor, you plunge into an internal panic because you don’t entirely understand the situation. You’re wholly unprepared for when he tackles you, the air knocked from your lungs upon landing flat on your back. You cough and groan, and Jake English is shamelessly propped on his haunches above you with a shit-eating bucktoothed grin so bright that you can’t possibly find it in yourself to be mad. How is this fuckin’ fair?
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              “Howdy, stranger!”
    
              You’re not sure if you should appreciate or resent the fact that he seems to have absolutely no regard for personal space. It’s not like he ever had a frame of reference, you suppose. Then again, neither did you. Your heart is pounding because this is entirely different from how he behaved when you first met up days ago. It does a little leap when you think he might be excited and comfortable enough to do something like this because it’s just you.
    
              “When you said you wanted to go on an adventure, I assumed that meant wrecking someone else’s shit, not each other’s,” you mumble, enforcing an iron will on your breathing. You expected him to be rough but the boy’s got some real thrust.
    
              Ba-dum tish!
    
              Lame internal jokes aside, you realize this is the first time you’ve had physical contact with him (alive and not as a severed head). And this is the first time your faces have been this close. Having been unable to video chat in the past due to time paradox shenanigans, getting to study Jake in the flesh is much different. Now you get to examine the thickness of his eyebrows, the squareness of his jaw, the deep greenness of his eyes...
    
              You then proceed to berate yourself because he is a normal god damn person, not some intangible conscious essence your imagination has granted image to. It doesn’t stop you from actively trying to keep your cool in check with him hovering over you in this compromising position, however. Your skin feels like it’s burning everywhere he touched you during the tumble. You vaguely remember how it felt to touch Roxy for the first time merely days ago. She was warm and soft, pressed comfortably to your side while you zipped about on your Rocket Board, so entirely different from the robots you grew up with. You remember her lips, and Jane’s lips, and briefly wonder if Jake’s would feel exactly the same or entirely different, since your severed head was long dead by the time he got around to laying a big one on it.
    
              “Sorry, chap! I saw you and couldn’t help but get a bit carried away.”
    
              Fortunately (or unfortunately, you’re not sure), Jake stands back up and offers you his hand. You accept it, rubbing the growing bump on the back of your head with your other hand. You’re taller than him by maybe seven or eight inches, and broader too. In fact, now that you look at him, he’s actually kind of small, and it surprises you. You note that he’s pretty friggin’ strong for his size, and maybe his shocking stature is because he hasn’t fully hit puberty yet. At least that’s what you deduce for now. It would be completely viable that he is a late bloomer. Regardless, you don’t fail to <strike>admire</strike> observe the muscle toned into his legs and arms, assuredly from running around jungle terrain his entire young life. Right now, he’s a ball of pure boyish charm with trace amounts of baby fat clinging to him as though reluctant to let go. Frankly, you’re looking forward to how inevitably kind the years are probably going to be to older Jake. You just hope you’re as easy on the eyes as you’ve come to believe you are, through Roxy’s convincing mostly.
    
              “I’m so doggone used to that Brobot bloke that I forgot the real one isn’t made of bolts and wires!” he adds sheepishly, watches you dust yourself off. Then he chuckles good-naturedly. “By Jove, I half-expected _you_ to tackle _me_!”
    
              You have to hold back a smile at that. “Nah, Stalking Mode is off for now. You’re safe with this Strider. Sounds like he kept you on your toes, though.”
    
              “Golly, I’d say he did a fair bit more than that. Gave me goose pimples every time I dared to turn a corner! If I didn’t know any better, I’d bet my bottom boonbuck that you built him solely to give me a heart attack,” Jake scoffs, shaking his head. But he smiles all the same, providing a bit of reassurance that gifting him the damn thing wasn’t a miscalculation on your part.
    
              “But enough about that. Welcome to my hilly and gaseous domain!” he exclaims while fanning his arms out enthusiastically, prompting you to look about your surroundings. All you can really pay attention to are the endless piles of bones. The amount of which you see is straight up ridiculous.
    
              You raise an eyebrow. “That’s a lot of righteous ossein defeat. Is this what you’ve been doing this entire time?”
    
              “I wouldn’t say the _entire_ time. I squeezed in a few films to catch a break. Did you expect me to sit on my arse all day?” he inquires with a quick wink and it takes all you have not to swoon at just... _all_ of him. How is it possible for such a colossal dork to be so unashamedly attractive?? Get it together, Strider!
    
              “Unfortunately, these brutes seem a touch difficult to dispatch in permanence. The scrums have been nigh endless. After a bit, they like to reassemble to get the jump on me again! And when I finally lay them to rest, the grist they drop is infinitesimal at best,” Jake proceeds to ramble while surveying the bones surrounding the both of you with a wary eye. “But you’ve probably already engaged in a skirmish or two with them by this point.”
    
              The presumption effectively snaps you from your senseless ogling.
    
              “Sure have.”
    
              You sure haven’t.
    
              But he doesn’t need to know that. You’ve been doing recon shit since you’ve entered for the most part. Not to mention you damn near passed out the first time you tried to explore the ground level of your planet without a mask because you were an idiot and hadn’t taken the density of the krypton into account. But he doesn’t need to know that either.
    
              After a moment, Jake makes a finger gun with his right hand and aims it with one eye shut at the horizon to your left. “My room is down that way, in case you were wondering.”
    
              “Oh yeah. Definitely. That’s all I’ve been thinking about since I got here,” comes your blunt reply. He playfully winks again and your heart flutters a little because you also think he might be flushing but you’re not entirely sure, so you can only hope.
    
              “So, Strider! Are you prepared to explore some mounds and slay some skeletons?” he asks with vigor. He places his hands on his hips in some sort of heroic pose and it’s so totally lame but he somehow pulls it off. With the slightest smirk, you pop the katana out of your strife deck.
    
              “Ready when you are.”
    

> [==>](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/49648628#workskin)


	8. ==>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one gives a shit about this fic, so I took a break. lmao
    
    
    
    
    
    
              The adventure begins with Jake leading the way. You really don’t mind, considering this is his planet and you know jack-shit about it. The numerous formations that resemble Stonehenge intrigue you, and you ask him several questions about them as well as other situational eye-catchers the two of you happen to pass by. The entire ride is spent without a single skeleton in sight, and you’re a little disappointed that you can’t collect their grist-y remains as you discuss his planet. Eventually you reach a particularly large mound surrounded by several stone formations. You’d forgotten that he’d headed off to where his home landed upon entering the Medium until you see a broken structure at the top of it. On an adjacent, slightly smaller mound sits a much less broken sphere settled on a pedestal.
    
              “Ahh. Home at last!” Jake sighs triumphantly as you approach the latter. You store your sadly clean katana back in your deck and look at the large, cracked, concrete orb towering over the two of you with interest. “Wow. And to think, I never quite believed you that day you told me you lived in a ball,” you joke, knowing you totally believed him.
    
              “Good gracious! Why would I pull your leg about something so silly?” he retorts while waving off the idea as simply ridiculous. You take another look around and finally notice that a notably expansive pumpkin patch thrives at the base of his home. You raise an eyebrow.
    
              “It brought the pumpkin patch too?”
    
              “Indeed. I also thought that to be a little strange. Jane’s been giving me some rather helpful advice regarding various dishes with pumpkin as the primary ingredient, but I’ve never had access to any of the other stuff needed to cook up what she was explaining. Of course, I never told her that. She just always seemed so pleased to share her baking interests with me, and I couldn’t rightly let her down!” Jake laughs as though he’s won some intensive argument, and it seems a bit out of place with what he’s saying but that’s fine. Following a brief but hopefully not awkward pause, you ask, “So are you going to invite me up, or are we going to stay down here and chill with your pumpkin bros? Not that I don’t have faith they can carry a solid conversation.”
    
              He tilts his head a bit, eyes watching as you try not to squirm.
    
              “Why Strider, I never thought you’d be so eager to view my personal chambers.” Jake grins in a way that might be mischievous, but you honestly can’t tell. All you know is that you’ve begun to sweat. You opt not to read too much into it, providing a stifled laugh intended to be casual but it only comes out nervous. For once, you can’t think of a response to carry on this “ironic” banter.
    
              “Haha, yeah.”
    
              Keeping up that solid wall of cool and capable proves much more difficult in person than you calculated. Might have something to do with never having interacted with another human being for the first 99% of your life.
    

> [Dirk: Follow Jake to his bedroom.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/49649192#workskin)


	9. Dirk: Follow Jake to his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe one day I'll go back and redo all this shitty art. It's almost like I didn't care when I drew any of it.
> 
> What's sad is that I totally did.
> 
> I did care.
> 
> What the fuck.
    
    
              You’re now in Jake’s bedroom for the very first time and everything is as dorky and messy as you pictured and the hundreds of nerdy posters lining the walls are basically the wallpaper and you want to laugh your fucking ass off but oh god you never thought this day would come so all you do is fidget awkwardly near his desk where you’ve been standing ever since you climbed the stairs. Jake picks a few comic books up off his floor and looks at them thoughtfully. “Perhaps it would’ve been prudent to clean up a bit since I was expecting company, eh?” he muses. “I’m afraid I’m not at all familiar with this whole hosting business.”
    
              “Don’t sweat it, bro. ‘A messy room is a sign of genius’ or whatever the hell it is that they tell you. That is to say, my room is just as graciously unfastidious,” you assure him even though it’s definitely not. Your room is cluttered at worst, but still relatively clean. Jake has guns and bullets and comics and... and vines growing up his stairs. He flashes you a small smile and plops the items down near a large... what is that? Some weird bazooka-cannon hybrid behind his bed’s headboard? Lord, help you. The number of weapons he has piled in the corners of his room is nothing short of startling. You’d think he’s been gearing up for a zombie apocalypse.
    
              It’s almost as startling as the resounding sigh you hear.
    
              You look up to see Jake’s eyes are downcast with his hands propped on his hips as though he needs to get something off his chest. You wait patiently.
    
              “Dirk. About that thing that... you have for me.”
    
              “...”
    
              _Uh oh._
    
              Flashes of an erupting volcano behind some life-saving lip-locking dance around in your head and it causes your breathing to get weird, but you decide to play dumb.
    
              “What thing?”
    
              This is a foolproof plan.
    
              “I think you know darn well what thing I’m referring to, Strider, you fiend!”
    
              He pins you with his impossibly verdant stare this time and you flinch. Your only solace right now is the fact that he doesn’t seem to be completely composed himself, what with his ears sporting that nice shade of barely noticeable pink. But there’s resolve in his expression, and it makes that little sanctuary pretty much useless.
    
              You’re legitimately surprised when he looks away, wringing his hands nervously.
    
              “And regarding it, I can tell you I’m not so irreparably blind as to not notice the numerous almost admittedly painful hints you as well as your bloody Auto-Responder have been dropping for me.”
    
              Shit. Shit. Shit.
    
              Abort.
    
              The jig is up. You’re done, Strider. Go home.
    
              This is not how you planned it to happen. Where’s the life or death situation? Where’s the scene where you save each other at the last second that leads to the prime happenstance of you holding him protectively in your sweet embrace? No, no! What the hell is he doing?! This isn’t right at all!
    
              “And really, chap,” —he glances in your direction only to look away just as quickly. There’s a tiny bit of reprieve from not being scrutinized as he talks but not nearly enough to unfreeze you where you stand like a pathetic deer about to get butchered by a speeding semi. “I-It wasn’t as if I was ignoring you. I just wasn’t sure how to broach the subject without floundering around like a weightless ninny.”
    
              Oh fuck, why is this happening? You need to say something. You need to stop him. Look, he’s even giving you generous pauses to work with—ample opportunity to say your piece. But damn is your heart freaking all kinds of fucks out in your chest. You know the rejection is coming and you were prepared for it (not really) but he’s totally blindsided you with this. _You_ were supposed to bring this up. Y’know, _eventually_.
    
              “Sakes alive, you know I’m utter shit with words,” he mutters, fumbling with his fingers a bit. His eyes scan the room, looking anywhere but at you. “Blast! If... If only I hadn’t misplaced my trusty... trusty kerchief...”
    
              Holy shit is his stuttering really fucking cute. It almost makes you feel a little less fucking awful about what he’s inevitably about to say.
    
              After a rather pathetic attempt at spotting said kerchief, he seems to give up.
    
              “A-Anyhoo, I suppose if there were a moment to cut to the chase, it seems it would be now. You’ll have to forgive me, old boy. I’m afraid you’ve put me in a right state,” he stalls with a nervous bout of laughter. You would point out that he’s one to talk, mention the fact that everything he’s said so far has put you in a “right state” of mortal petrification. But of course, you don’t, mostly because you find you can’t. Because you’re too busy being mortally petrified.
    
              “So, I... I’ve finally come to realize that this subtle game of cat and mouse will never get anywhere unless I’m willing to talk about this like I’m... Like I’m somewhat... somewhat _mature_ for once,” he continues and Jesus fuck, he’s locked eyes with you again and you can’t force yourself to look away and now you have to physically restrain yourself from chewing on your bottom lip while you internally pray that you don’t appear as cornered as you fuckin’ feel. “The truth is: you’re my best bro, and I don’t know where the hell I’d be without you. You’re one hundred percent irreplaceable companion material and how... how grateful I feel is sometimes so overwhelming, I don’t know how to make heads or tails of the situation. If I’m to be completely honest, I... I don’t know if I feel such a thing just yet.”
    
              Wait. What?
    
              "But I’m willing to give this a shot if you are.”
    
              “...”
    
              You think... your heart might’ve stopped.
    
              Is your vision tunneling or are you just dissociating?
    
              One thing’s for sure, _something’s_ fucking happening and it’s more than likely detrimental to your health. Your swiftly darkening vision finds Jake offering you this small, apprehensive smile.
    
              —_God._
    
              _Fuck._
    
              There’s no other explanation.
    
              You’re dead.
    
              Surely something like this wouldn’t happen unless you just inexplicably kicked the bucket and ascended to whatever paradise has been awaiting you. You thank what heavenly deity is watching over you that you have such a good god damn poker face, but it’s more likely that you are confusing a perfect bearing with the fact that you are fucking paralyzed. You almost flinch back when Jake takes a step in your direction. His smile devolves into a frown of uncertainty and the resulting lurch in your chest is what finally convinces you that you’re by some means still fucking alive.
    
              “Or did I just make a fool of myself?” comes his careful inquiry. You’ve never experienced so many types of panic in such a short amount of time.
    
              Jake English has somehow killed you and brought you back and made you feel guilty about him killing you. Of course, he’s aware of none of that and you’re glad of it because you don’t want him to see how profoundly melodramatic you are.
    
              “I suppose I do have a history of mistranslating quite a few things...” he adds in a tone you can’t place. You wanna say he knows damn well that his translation is rightly fucking spot on, but you’re aware he has enough self-doubt to start backpedaling if you don’t verbalize an actual answer soon.
    
              When you swallow, you attempt to make it as unnoticeable as possible. If Jake sees it, he doesn’t react, and that alone gives you enough confidence to finally respond.
    
              “Dude, I’ve been in love with you for years.”
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              ...Wait. Shit.
    
              What.
    
              _No._
    
              You weren’t supposed to say _that_! It’s not even true!
    
              There’s no way you’re in...
    
              In... In... Uh.
    
              Mother of god. What the fuck. _What the fuck._
    
              That’s a whole steel-locked can of vermicular conundrums you’re not ready to jam out right now, or maybe ever. Hell, you don’t even know where the key is. But it doesn’t matter either way because the reality is that _it’s what you fuckin’ said._ Ya done fucked up, Strider. You just blurted the heaviest, dubious confession in the raspiest, sad, tiny voice you could fuckin’ muster. Congrats. You win the award for the most pathetic proclamation of passion this side of the virtual apocalypse. Little romanticized cherubs are fluttering down this second to disgrace you with some Oompa Loompa-esque breakdance of derision to school you on appropriate times and places to make love professions which don’t include here and now.
    
              You briefly consider committing some bastardized version of seppuku. If you whip out your katana and plunge it into your stomach right now, maybe he won’t notice.
    
              But then you realize Jake is staring at you with fifty shades of vermilion rippling over his features. You can practically see the steam emanating from how hot his skin is, completely taken off guard after you unwittingly dropped that nuclear bomb of debatable feelings on him. You’re both frozen, gaping at each other like you might shatter time and space if you dare make the slightest movement. You’re not sure how long that stretch of agonizingly uncomfortable silence lasts when Jake suddenly wrenches his gaze way, wringing his hands again while looking anywhere but at you. He’s sweating. At least you’re not alone in that department.
    
              “I-I... I see...” he mutters timorously.
    
              You want to punch yourself. Could you have fucked this up any worse? _Right_ when he was willing to give you a chance?
    
              Your hand idly reaches toward him, moving on pure instinct to fumble an apology for effectively bitch-slapping him with a bag of affectionate, heart-shaped bricks, but he cuts you off before you can speak.
    
              “So, I guess that means... You’ll have me?”
    
              ...Oh.
    
              Holy shit, he’s serious.
    
              Dude, you can _save this._
    
              Hell to the motherfucking yes, you will have yourself some Jake English.
    
              Not to sound salacious, because that is definitely not what you meant here. Even in your head, you sound like a total creep. Good thing you held back on using any mental shout poles. That would’ve made the thought even more uncool.
    
              Thinking quickly, the first thing that pops out of your mouth is much less suggestive, thank god. “Am I allowed to hold your hand and give you ludicrous pet names and junk?”
    
              But then you immediately serve yourself a hard cerebral slap because of course you can’t just give him a straight answer. It’s obvious you’re joking but why do you insist on testing him?? The dude’s offering himself up on the most beautiful salver you’ve ever imagined, for fuck’s sake! The least you can do is restrain your dire need to catechize him for his every action.
    
              The query catches him by surprise. At first, he simply stares blankly at you. You clench your fists to keep yourself from fidgeting. Then he grins, slow and bright. It makes your heart melt.
    
              “I daresay, that would be appropriate!” he replies, feigning seriousness. “With my best bro as my first romantic venture, I’ll be damned if we’re not going to do this courting business right!”
    
              He has such an aberrant way of wording things that makes you much more flustered than you really need to be. You briefly wonder if he’s aware of how much of an effect it has on you, but you’re fairly certain he’s not, thank Christ. The last thing you need is for him to see right through you, especially with all your insecurities constantly running laps in your cranium. No, he really doesn’t need to know any of that. So long as Jake is watching, you need to keep up this image of calm, cool perfection.
    
              Because the instant he catches wind of the real you, he’ll... Well. You can think about that later.
    
              You return his smile—a slight upturn at the corner of your mouth but it’s enough to make him beam wider. Then his fades suddenly, and for a second, you panic. Jake’s eyes lose focus before his chin dips toward the stairs. That’s when you finally hear what he’s hearing: a chorus of sickening cracks echoing up from the room below.
    
              The both of you are no longer alone.
    

> [Dirk: Be Jake English.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/50076104#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "confession" or "who asking who out" scene actually goes two ways in my brain. It either went this way, where Jake finally calls Dirk out on his painfully obvious passes while Dirk's soul leaves his body because what the hell, he was so sneaky sneaky; there's no way Jake could've figured it out on his own!!
> 
> Or it went another way, where Dirk corners Jake in this super not romantic but hella awkward way and makes this frail attempt at asking him out in the "coolest", most blasé, most aloof way he possibly can, all while getting increasingly flustered, causing him to start putting his foot in his mouth every other sentence. And at the end of it all when Dirk's holding his breath and mentally preparing for rejection, Jake's just like, "lol, sounds good bro. Let's watch this movie that you keep insisting is horrible but today I'm going to convince you otherwise."
> 
> TLDR: Dirk's a dork and Jake's an idiot. There's no way the exchange that ended with them dating wasn't a train wreck of stifled communication. Thanks for coming to my DeunanTalk.


	10. Dirk: Be Jake English.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy, shoutout to [notdirk](https://notdirk.tumblr.com/). Appreciate you trying to promote my fic on tumblr, bro. Super cool of you.
    
    
              Whoa. That was a sudden and unexpected turn of events. Didn’t think you’d be switching perspectives like this, did you?
    
              You are now Jake English. And confound it! You were having an intimate moment there with your best mate of all time, establishing the next level to your relationship and whatnot. Though, you suppose you aren’t too upset. Whatever bungled into your abode downstairs is most assuredly not friendly, but all that means to you is more adventure and more grist, which you’re certain you and your friends will surely need in the future. You just kind of wish the Underlings hadn’t followed you to your home. You need to lead them away so these upcoming scrums don’t destroy your precious posters or movies. In a single motion, you draw your guns, eyes trained on the stairwell. In your peripheral, you see Dirk quietly summon his katana. You grin.
    
              “I do believe our tête-à-tête will have to be put on hold, bro. Sounds like adventure’s paid us a visit and chivalry demands we be hospitable,” you say, barely containing your enthusiasm. Dirk shoots a brief glance in your direction, expressionless. There’s some admiration for that stoic demeanor because you really have no idea what he’s been thinking throughout this whole ordeal, which is probably exactly what he wants. You suppose you’ve made it this far simply running on assumptions, so it’s fine. You’ll just have to learn how to read him along the way.
    
              “Don’t know about you, dude, but it seems like adventure needs to learn some fuckin’ manners. Didn’t even knock. What’s up with that?” his reply is smooth, rhythmic. As monotonously as his words spill out, there’s a vague melody to how he speaks that you decide you like.
    
              The pair of you make your way back down, sticking close with Dirk taking the lead. He halts at a corner you both need to round to see the front door, presses his back against the wall. You follow suit, pistols raised. The grin splitting your face is beginning to hurt, but can you be blamed? You’re really flipping excited and this suspenseful pause is precisely what you need to feel like the great action heroes in your favorite movies. Dirk falls into the role as your partner seamlessly. He tilts his head ever so slightly past the wall to have a peek, then looks back at you with a small nod, confirming that there is, indeed, a skeleton just feet from where the pair of you are hidden. To your surprise, he signals you to round it first. Perhaps because you’re the ranged fighter? In any case, you’re confident it’s a good strategy if Dirk is the one proposing it. No sense thinking too deeply about it because you’ve been given the cue!
    
              You spin past him to aim at what you must admit is a much heftier skeletal foe than you had anticipated. You ignore how its body centipedes around the room as if it has no end, focusing all your attention on the head as you open fire. It whips about and drops its maw with a hiss, unable to produce any other sound. It writhes in a way that has to be one of the creepiest gosh darned things you’ve ever seen, crawls forward with such speed, you don’t have much time to react. But then you feel something warm and heavy on your shoulder; Dirk is using you to launch himself forward and into the path of the beast.1
    
              This is the first time you have the honor of watching him fight, and the boy is a marvel, not that you expected any less. Like Brobot, his movements are barely traceable; one second, he’s here, and the next second, he’s there. He sweeps his blade at the numerous legs of the fiend and follows up with practiced acrobatics to escape any retaliation. You already feel much safer watching the spectacle, reminded of the few times Brobot came to your rescue back on Hellmurder Island.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              The Underling whips around to follow Dirk as he flips out through the entrance. Consequentially, its long bony tail careens toward you as it turns, eager to be acquainted with your face. You holster your guns and dive forward just as it slams against the wall behind you, reducing the point of impact to rubble. You’re not really thinking when you grab the vertebrae as the monster scuttles after your bro. You do your best to not get bashed and broken when it belts about haphazardly. Once you feel like you might not get thrown off, you start to climb. What’s your plan? You’ll figure it out when you get there.
    
              Somewhere to the side, you hear Dirk call, “Jake! Dude, what the hell are you doing?!”
    
              And with a burst of confidence, you call back, “Just a tick, lad! Do us a favor and keep the darned thing busy, will you?!”
    
              The response you receive is a grunt, but it sounds like an affirmative grunt, so you continue with what you’re doing.
    
              Somehow, after an indeterminate amount of time, you find yourself right behind its skull. It’s stopped moving, and you seize the opportunity to stand upon its spine on shaky legs. You’re either tremendously lucky or possess a fantastic rapport with timing because when you press the barrel of your pistol to the back of its neck, you have just enough time to say “Sorry, chum.” before pulling the trigger.
    
              The creature’s noggin pops off like a bottle cap. You’d like to say you stood strong on its spine as it collapsed to the ground, like that badass elvish fellow when he slayed a large elephant-like beast in that one trilogy, but you feel the bone vanish beneath your boots and realize that sadly, you cannot live such a hardcore dream. Instead you find yourself falling with a plethora of gummy-like currency and a yelp of alarm, because of course this one decided it was fine with dying on the first killing blow. You basically belly flop into the vines of the pumpkin patch, resenting the grist for being immediately collected by your plummeting body rather than lingering for a moment longer to cushion your fall.
    
              You hear a slightly muffled “Jake!” in the distance. Soon, two hands firmly grasp your shoulders, roll you onto your back. Dirk’s face is straight as he crouches over you, but you catch what might be worry in his voice and it warms your heart a little bit.
    
              “Are you okay?”
    
              Taking a minute to regain your bearing, as well as the air that was knocked fresh from your lungs, you eventually sit up and rub your bruised cheek. The ache does little to keep you from grinning brightly.
    
              “Right as rain!” you chirp. A tension falls from Dirk’s shoulders that you hadn’t noticed previously. A vibrant laugh escapes you. “How was that? Could’ve stuck the landing a bit better, but boy shitting howdy, did I feel cool just now!”
    
              The smile he returns is small but the resounding sigh that follows is filled with relief. “Deservedly so. That was the coolest god damn thing I’ve ever seen, yo.”
    
              You perk up, delighted to be complimented.
    
              “Really?”
    
              “Yeah, bro,” he affirms. You wonder if his lax rhymes are intentional. “So cool, ice cream’s having an identity crisis cuz it’s lookin’ pretty Jell-O.”
    
              He stands as you chuckle at his silliness. You love when you get to see him be so totally lame because it reminds you that he’s not perfect, that he’s human, just like you. You accept the hand he offers to pull you to your feet. The moment you enjoy together is short-lived when more hisses and cracks begin to ring in all directions, and it comes to your attention that your recent strife has drawn the unwanted interest of many more foes. The pair of you glance around, picking out the silhouettes of skeletons of various shapes, sizes, and strengths. You’re not sure if you feel ecstatic or exasperated.
    
              Dirk doesn’t wait for you to decide when he grabs your wrist without a word and practically drags you behind him in a direction of least opposition. You try not to stumble, but by gum, is he _fast_! He pivots you both around several Underlings, trashes one or two with his katana while you keep others at bay with one of your pistols.
    
              But then he skids to a stop so sudden, you nearly barrel into him and send the both of you sprawling. You look up to see a much larger version of the fiend you’d slain earlier blocking your path to escape. A blood-curdling, creaky hiss draws awareness to your six where you see an equally large skeleton approaching, seemingly specialized in brute strength. Behind it, a throng of smaller trogs are closing in.
    
              Your heart thumps rapidly in your chest, in your ears, a familiar fear filling you to feed the tension in your muscles. But your back presses up against something solid, and you’re able to see past the terror to the thrill that so often accompanies it. Because despite the obvious danger you’re in, you have _Dirk_.
    
              And against all odds, you feel _safe_.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              The grin returns to your face like it never left.
    
              You feel him lean further into you and hope he finds as much comfort in your presence as you do in his. As you aim your guns straight ahead at that particularly brutish fellow, you will yourself to stop shaking from that troublesome excitement of yours. Strider will never let you live it down if he thinks these to be the trembles of a caitiff!
    
              “Think we can take ‘em?” you toss over your shoulder, words brimming with rapture.
    
              You feel rather than hear it, but you sense Dirk might’ve chuckled.
    
              “Could be tricky if one more shows up,” comes his even reply, which draws a boisterous laugh from you. You can’t help but find his wit familiar. Perhaps you heard the same choice of words in some famous movie you watched, but you cannot for the life of you recall which one.2
    
              “Well, Strider. As long as it’s you that has my back, that’s a gamble I’m willing to take!” you offer easily. You feel him stiffen against your shoulder blades, but only for a moment. The first of the skeletons begin to run in to attack, but just before they close the distance, you hear Dirk’s quiet response.
    
              “I’ll always have your back, dude.”
    
              The statement is vulnerable, yet so painfully sincere. It gives you goosebumps.
    
              You can’t imagine being here with anyone else.
    
              “Cheers!”
    

> [Jake: Engage the Underlings with Dirk.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/50076461#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's a bit short so I did two art thingers to compensate.
> 
> Notes:  
1) Fun fact: this moment was partially inspired by [this age-old fanart](https://homosexualpancakes.tumblr.com/post/35590812604/they-are-totally-boyfriends-now-you-cant-tell-me).  
2) 10 points to whatever nerd recognizes what dumb exchange this pays homage to.


	11. Jake: Engage the Underlings with Dirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to go back and redo a couple art pieces because I forgot Dirk's gloves lmao. I'm a fuckin idiot.
    
    
              You don’t know how long you and Dirk scuffle with what is undoubtedly an army sent to crush you by the game when you make the wordless agreement to retreat. You take off at the same time, having carefully thinned out a route to abscond from the battle, and slide down terrace after terrace on your backs. You think you might’ve cut down the army to maybe half of what it was, but that doesn’t account for the piles of bones set on a timer to reanimate, and you are too damn exhausted to hold your own as well as you did at the beginning of the squabble. The last terrace is fairly steep, and you find yourself tumbling when you reach the base. Dirk, ever agile, manages to stay on his feet with little effort.
    
              “This was a little more difficult than I anticipated,” he pants, offering you a hand to get back to your feet, which you gratefully accept. After a quick breather, you don’t bother dusting yourself off when you take the lead, running as swiftly as energy will allow a steady pace you know you can keep for a good amount of time. You don’t look back at the horde of furious foes rolling down after you.
    
              “These foul creatures are no joke. What they lack in power they compensate for in numbers!” you observe between breaths. “We’ll have to think fast if we wanna lose them. Don’t suppose you’ve got any ideas brewing in that big brainy brilliance of yours, chap?”
    
              He doesn’t answer immediately, probably preoccupied with deliberation. You can practically see the tactics rotating and recycling around in his head.
    
              “Sure, just give me a minute,” he responds finally, which means he can’t think of anything yet. He’s doing his best to keep up with you, and you realize it makes sense that despite his superior physical prowess, you still have more stamina than he does (one of the few good things to come from running from giant hostile monsters all your life; honestly, this situation right here is pretty normal for you), so you slow down to better match his pace. Eventually, your legs bring you to the edge of a forest. At least, you think it’s a forest when you enter. All you spare time to discern is how those Underlings are practically on your heels, and you don’t hesitate for a second to jump off a cliff you don’t notice until you’re already in the air.
    
              Oh, bugger.
    
              Dirk is either in his own head again or just a fool for following you so blindly because he’s in the air with you, having promptly leapt off alongside you without complaint. You think for a brief moment that this can’t be any worse, only to stand corrected when you realize you’re trying to clear one of the vast canyons hoarding electrically excited xenon that splits your planet.
    
              Fudging lid. Just sticks of fucking fiddle, for frig’s flipping sake, _what were you thinking??_
    
              Spoiler Alert: you weren’t! You never fucking think, do you?!
    
              Your yelp of terror when you absorb what’s happened catches in your chest because everything that’s led up to this point has stolen your breath. You’re probably in some state of shock; you don’t feel when Dirk’s arm weaves out to pull you close until he orders over the wind, “Hold onto me!”
    
              You do, like the lifeline he very well may be. His katana vanishes, and something pops into existence beneath your feet produced from what you can only assume was his Sylladex.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              It’s his Rocket Board, you deduce, and holy shit, you must say that getting to ride with him on it for the first time is really fucking stellar, at least for the few seconds you’re aware of it. Unfortunately, your mate is apparently not as impressively composed as you’re so used to him being, and the front tip of his sweet ride catches on the ledge enclosing the canyon on the other side, sending you both rolling in a wipeout gnarly enough to be broadcasted on the internet somewhere if it had been recorded. Almost as if to further spite you, a lone, fallen log is conveniently placed to provide yet another obstacle that deals you pain. So of course, the pair of you flop over it and come to a hard stop, landing flat on your backs with legs propped upon the cursed thing to punctuate this moment’s comedic purpose.
    
              Your eyes are closed but you know the world is spinning. You’re bruised and breathing hard, and Dirk gulps for air beside you, evidently faring no better. Through your dizziness, you pick up on the hollow screams of the skeletons in the distance, staining the air with their vengeful cacophony.
    
              Then there’s laughter, cutting the thick atmosphere of you-almost-died.
    
              _Your_ laughter.
    
              Dirk shifts, probably to shoot you a look that wordlessly calls out your insanity, but you don’t care. Your eyes are still closed when you tilt your head to direct this hysterical laughter at his face, which is probably super rude and unwelcome, but you can’t stop. You’re wheezing and giggling madly in between, basking in the aftermath of what had to have been the shoddiest twist of fight to flight you’ve ever had the pleasure of participating in.
    
              When you finally open your eyes to meet his, you find that at some point during all that trundling around, he lost his shades. As a result, amber eyes you’d been yet to see peer into your own, burning bright with an emotion you can’t quite place. All you know is that they’re warm—_mesmerizing_; you never would’ve guessed Dirk could look this soft. It makes it hard to catch your breath.
    
              He exhales once, offers a smile of amusement, but then something in it cracks.
    
              “Pfft! Hahaha!” he laughs, unable to hold back as he faces the sky. His chuckles are reserved, but breathy and sincere. It’s sweet, you think as you laugh harder. A high of ecstasy overtakes you unlike anything you’ve ever felt, mixing with the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You wouldn’t give today up for the world—the greatest adventure you’ve ever experienced so far in your young life, and you were able to share it with your best friend, your partner in crime. You really can’t ask for anything more.
    
              It takes a full minute or two for your mirth to die. The only reason it does is because you feel a gloved hand slowly fold over your own, hot and sweaty and hesitant. You turn to face him a second time. He’s not looking at you and he’s no longer laughing. In fact, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he might be nervous, but it’s difficult not to when you can see the tension in his muscles. You also think your heart is beating faster now after it had already settled.
    
              You’d honestly... completely forgotten what had taken place in your room earlier today.
    
              That’s right. He’s not just your best mate anymore.
    
              With that realization, and a gulp you’re almost certain he hears, you will your hand palm up and thread your fingers between his. It’s a bit awkward, having your hot, sweaty palm pressed flush against his equally hot, damp fingerless glove, but you’re glad to see the motion soon causes him to relax, even more so when his smile returns. Before you know it, your other arm is lifting, his gaze snapping over to follow it as it forms a fist in midair.
    
              You’ve always wanted to do this with someone, every single time you’ve watched it shared between bros in all your favorite bro-focused movies. And honestly, you don’t know if the next opportunity you get will be more suited to your very first one.
    
              He glances at you. To your glee, he doesn’t leave you hanging for long.
    
              You proceed to share your first ever fist bump with your best bro, now paramour, and Jesus Christofer Kringlefucker, you can’t think of a more epic note to end on following such a legendary experience.
    
    
    
    
    
    

> [Jake: Answer weird question.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/50076590#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long since I wrote all this that I didn't realize how short these earlier chapters are in comparison to the other 80k words lmao
> 
> I forgot the fucking... log in the god damn picture. Jfc.


	12. Jake: Answer weird question.


              You have to be asked one first!
    
              “Yo, Jake.”
    
              Oh, right on time.
    
              It’s been a few minutes, but neither of you has made any motion to stand yet. Honestly, after the sharp pains eventually receded into dull aches, you found laying here to be quite comfortable. It’s peaceful after all that running and fighting you just did.
    
              “What’s on your mind?” you inquire.
    
              You turn your head to view the blond boy laying to your left only to see he’s facing the other direction. After a brief minute of confusion, the sound of something being torn up reaches your ears. Only a couple seconds later does Dirk adjust to face you once more. You’re startled to see his shades have somehow magically found their way back onto his face. How he’d put them back without your notice is beyond you. And evidently, that's not the mystery he’s concerned with right now. He brings the hand he used to fist bump you earlier back around with something enclosed in his fist, dips it between you and unfurls his fingers.
    
              “What the hell is this?”
    
              You stare at the contents in his hand for a good bit, then your eyes trace back to his blank look. You honestly can’t tell... if he’s trying to fuck with you or not.
    
              “That’s...”
    
              You briefly glance at his hand in a last-ditch effort to notice something you might’ve missed, but there’s nothing else.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              “Dirk, that’s grass.”
    
              “Grass,” he repeats slowly. His face twitches just slightly, but it’s enough for you to see he’s genuinely confused by your answer. That makes two of you.
    
              “So, like... why is it literally everywhere?”
    
              “Have you...” You pause, squinting at him like that might help you better read his expression. “Have you never seen grass before?”
    
              “I mean, I guess?” he huffs, letting the severed blades fall between you before dropping his arm unceremoniously across his chest. “I’ve seen it in film, and I remember it all around Jane’s house when I was dicking around placing shit for the game, but if you’ll remember, I lived one giant shitty chunk of my life in an apartment surrounded by ocean, where I did pretty much nothing but build useless junk and hope the drones didn’t find me. Seeing and touching it for the first time is surreal to me. It’s all prickly... but also weirdly spongey? I don’t know how to describe it.”
    
              You think about it for a bit, eventually tilting your head this way and that with a shrug. “No, I’d say that was pretty spot on.”
    
              “I don’t know if I like it,” Dirk admits after a moment.
    
              You laugh. “If you roll around in it as much as I have, you get used to it.”
    
              He hums skeptically, but you let it go. You settle back, face the dark sky looming over you, and breathe deep. “Smells like home,” you murmur.
    
              Your eyes close as Dirk adjusts some more.
    

> [Dirk: Date Jake.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/50919478#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an incredibly self-indulgent bonus scene that I wrote to pay homage to one of my favorite homestuck fanarts of all time. View it [here.](https://shoutloaf.tumblr.com/post/152295359051#workskin) Please. It's a masterpiece.


	13. Dirk: Date Jake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took another break. Almost didn't post this week either, pfft. It's fine.
    
    
              You’re Dirk again. Congrats, bro.
    
              And with as little irony as possible, _god friggin’ speed_. Because the next six months you’re about to spend dating Jake—sorry, _*trying_ to date Jake? Yeah, those are... well, they’re gonna be something. There’s gonna be some good, specifically starting out. Like those first two months? Honestly, fuckin’ choice. But then there’s gonna be some bad. Alright, there’s gonna be a _lot_ of bad. And by bad, you mean reality decides it’s pretty done with your fairytale bullshit and chooses to parade it by planting a big obnoxious neon sign between you and Jake that says “You have no idea what you’re doing” on both sides. Although the reminder is somewhat appreciated, mostly because you pride yourself in being a realist, the execution is... uncouth, especially near the end there. Actually, that last bit might even be a little cruel, at least in your opinion. Reality’s kind of a dick, no surprises there. Okay, not even kind of. It’s a gigantic douchebag bursting with floppy, pathetic semi-erections desperate to multi-cock-slap any poor soul naïve enough to even consider that a gargantuan scrotum engorged on a throng of dong isn’t exactly what it is. Is the metaphor here landing at all? If you sound bitter, it’s because you are. The bottom line is that reality is a sadistic piece of shit that gets all impatient about pointing out your combined ineptitude at playing this little dating game and proceeds to do so with shameless vigor.
    
              But after all that happens, while you watch the hopes and dreams you conscientiously—_foolishly_—crafted into your first real romantic experience slowly collapse and burn before your eyes, reminding you of just how powerless you really are in the grand scheme of things, you can’t help but grudgingly acknowledge the pros hidden in the rubble of that disaster you called your relationship.
    
              For example: In those six months, you learned a little more about yourself. Like the fact that you’re clingy as shit. And overbearing. And jealous. And you might be a bit of a bully even? For the most part, determining all that is not much of a pro for you, because all it does is reinforce that you’re a pretty terrible person all around. But hey, you were already thoroughly convinced. Despite how much of a bummer it is to have the evidence of how awful you are stack up in its daring endeavor to be infinite, you still get some sick sense of satisfaction from merely _knowing_ all that about yourself. It’s like you get off on expanding your repertoire of self-identified issues. Christ...
    
              But enough of that generously asinine helping of self-pity, because the bigger discovery to come out of that clusterfuck was what you learned about _Jake English_. Because what was six months of gradual realization that you didn’t understand your proclaimed best friend anywhere near as much as you previously believed, was unfortunately also the slow, agonizing reveal that the boy you initially grew to like to the point of fucking obsession was a shallow, heavily romanticized, oversimplification of who was, in truth, a deceptively ingenuous guy. It’s embarrassing, but you invested four and a half years falling for a fallacy—a projected image of kindness and innocence, an idealized Jake with his falsest traits so quixotically blown out of proportion, you find it difficult to spot the difference between you and a foolish schoolgirl with a celebrity crush. God, it’s so obvious now that the reason you let yourself fall so hard was because you were confident he was nothing like you. In your eyes, he was your opposite: pure and careless and _simple, simple, simple_. Before you met in person, you honestly would’ve described him as two-dimensional. If you’d have said three, you were being generous.
    
              Now though? Well, let’s just say you’d be quick to admit you were painfully, indisputably wrong.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    

> [Dirk: Rewind & reanalyze.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/50919652#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drawing cityscapes fuckin suuucks.


	14. Dirk: Rewind & reanalyze.


              Yes, good call. That was probably as good a place as any to backtrack to the beginning of those six months. You’ve collected the data already, but it never hurts to reanalyze. Who knows? Maybe you’ll notice something new in hindsight.
    
              In the first month, while you’re diving right into a variety of exploratory heists and overcomplicated puzzles, you begin to consider that Jake may be an introvert.
    
              It’s a couple days succeeding your first adventure together that you both meet up with Jane and Roxy for the first time since entering the Medium, and you waste no time revealing that you’ve taken your relationship to the next level. You ignore the fact that it has to be you to mention it, that Jake admits it had completely slipped his mind. Instead, you focus on not looking too smug, especially since poor Jane makes a valiant effort to hide how crestfallen she is while congratulating you.
    
              But as the four of you actually get to chatting in person over time, Jake becomes increasingly absent from your conversations. It’s perplexing because the guy practically talks your ear off when you’re alone, and if one-on-one with one of the girls, you know it’s basically the same situation. And yet, as you, Roxy, and Jane knock ideas and jokes between you like a well-loved volleyball, Jake is quick to take to the metaphorical bleachers and spectate. Sometimes he quietly listens. Otherwise, he distracts himself while tuning you out. If he chimes in, it’s usually to laugh or drop in the odd comment that doesn’t really mean anything. A few times, he adds something so unfitting to the topic at hand, that you all kind of stare at him until Roxy chuckles good-naturedly and gives his arm a dismissive pat. On the other hand, if one of you turns to him and asks his opinion, he stiffens and glances between you like he’s having difficulty formulating a response.
    
              It’s honestly a bit fascinating, seeing the boy you’ve always known to be such a gregarious protagonist chuckle nervously and avoid eye contact when he realizes everyone’s attention is on him. You wonder if it’s due to shyness or if there’s another factor in play while you observe how uncomfortable he looks even though he’s in the company of his three closest friends. He mentioned once that he felt intimidated. Is it because he’s aware that he’s kind of the odd one out? Does he think he’s not witty enough to keep up? Is he afraid he’s not bright enough to contribute meaningfully to the dialogue?
    
              Despite the speculation in your head, you never bring it up, and neither does he. You suppose that might’ve been your first big mistake in the sequence of many.
    
              You know you shouldn’t think too hard about the fact that Jake doesn’t seem to be very interested in engaging in any of the normal activities involved in dating somebody. Of course, you do anyway, because overthinking literally everything is such an integral part of you that you presume not doing so will cause you to blow a fuse and shut down. Unsurprisingly, you’re the one to initiate your first kiss after you’d been dating for a good two and a half weeks already. Neither of you were quite ready yet before, and you’re fairly certain you still aren’t because you stumble over yourself and end up asking permission like a giant loser since just letting it happen on its own seems much too nerve-racking. In turn, Jake blithers and blushes, but ultimately nods, and when you lean in, he meets you halfway.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              Suffice to say, neither of you has any idea how a real kiss with someone who’s not dead works, so your noses smush together awkwardly while teeth clack behind pursed lips. You draw back quickly, humiliated, but Jake only laughs, saying you’d both do better the next time around. He gives you hope, heart fluttering at his insinuation that he’s willing to kiss you again.
    
              The second month rolls around, and it’s not much different from the first month, except this time you detect that Jake is sharper than he lets on.
    
              To be fair, you’ve always been a bit suspicious on this front. Jake already has a history of being surprisingly on point during situations you pegged as being completely out of his comfort zone, not to mention his unexpected competence in mechanical engineering. You hypothesized that he might just be an idiot savant, but you kept picking up evidence to the contrary. The guy is absolutely fucking stellar at puzzles for one thing. So much that the both of you have developed a point system to keep track of who’s figured out what. Easy ones yield one point while the more complicated ones grant five. But there are also these rare real mindbenders constructed with such seriously fucked up logic that it makes you wanna shout and flip tables because your mind is already overloaded as is it cannot handle this dumb shit what the fuck. Solving one of those insane bastards awards ten points. You only come across three of those in the six months you spend dicking around in the session.
    
              The score will eventually tally at 114 to 99, in your favor.
    
              30 of that 99 in Jake’s winnings of puzzle points will be from the instances you’ll want to flip tables.
    
              Enough said.
    
              To think, you, Roxy, and Jane used to make fun of him for the simplicity of his puzzle modus.
    
              His knack for conundrum cracking only makes you that much more bemused when you’re agonizing over safety measures to a raid strategy one day and Jake offers a solution you hadn’t thought of that ends up making a fuck-ton of sense, only to immediately backpedal on it using this fumbled, half-assed admission that “fretting over that kind of stuff is not his area of expertise”. You stand there studying his goofy grin for a good few seconds, doubting the authenticity of it.
    
              Although the occurrences aren’t frequent, you begin to recognize more when it happens, since every time elicits the same general behavior. Rinse, recycle, repeat. Each moment, you can practically see him shake it off when he’s about to do something cautious or clever, as if acting in a way that’s remotely precognitive would be a slip-up of some kind. Like... he’d be accidentally stepping into a role that isn’t meant for him, but a role meant for _you_—his hyper intelligent, vigilant, capable partner. He’s too busy being a man of action to be a man of thought; that’s the kind of shit he says to you, but now you see this type of shit might very well be of the bull variety. In fact, it doesn’t take long to entertain the idea that a big chunk of his oblivious ignorance shtick has always been a heaping mound of thespian excrement. And for what? So he can further delude himself into being a “true adventurer”? It’s like he has no idea he’s allowed to be multifaceted. You can practically see the vast heap of potential burning bright and hot, suffocating under a load of superficial, maladjusted, heroic ideals born from cinematic misconceptions.
    
              Because on top of riddle resolving, what’s truly remarkable about Jake’s aptitude isn’t his elusive intelligence, but his ability to observe and recall things he actually pays attention to. It really shines when you watch movies together at his place. He’ll mention background details in scenes you never would’ve noticed; he accurately depicts plot points and scenes to you if you admit you’ve phased out. After every film, he loves to theorize and analyze what he’s watched, and even if it’s tremendously shittier than usual, you thoroughly enjoy bouncing off each other because Jake sometimes makes unexpectedly reasonable, well thought-out arguments while always taking your numerous criticisms in stride. When you reminisce about the time you’ve spent together, there are occasions he can visualize the memory you’re discussing so clearly, describe the way you were standing, if you were tapping your fingers against the hilt of your katana or messing with your hair, and go on to quote exactly what you said, exactly how you said it. Jake recounts things you’ve said to him in conversations you don’t even remember having. He once claimed your memory was absurdly accurate, but his is nothing short of unnerving.
    
              You’re aware he loves to learn about things, but when you make the few blasé attempts to lure the nerd out of him, Jake reminds you that he is somehow infuriatingly skilled at deflection by drawing your attention to something else. Or you’re just easily distracted by his antics. Probably a combination of both.
    
              You start to suspect Jake’s communal trepidation isn’t necessarily due to a difference of intellect between him and you guys, despite what he might imagine. You think it’s due to the gap in social maturity and a lack of attention on his part. Jake had always kind of been at a disadvantage with his ridiculous, damn near nonsensical, grandpa jargon, but having never vocally spoken to anyone since losing his grandma, he missed out on developing any skill in recognizing social cues. Though hell, it’s not like you experienced any better. In fact, you definitely had it worse, so why can you pick up on cues that he can’t? Because he’s not paying attention probably? The bottom line is that Jake may believe that he’s stunted mentally when he’s truthfully not. He doesn’t say it, but you think he’s scared of being left behind.
    
              The third and fourth months are when things start to get rocky between you, where you discover Jake would sooner throw himself in peril than confront any kind of social conflict.
    
              Some of the adventures you had together in the first couple months had scared the shit out of you because Jake’s tendency for gaucherie is... alarming, to say the least. So, you take it upon yourself to see that he’s never in any real danger. He’s growing, but he’s still so small. You need to keep him safe. When you’re exploring mounds, raiding crypts, or scouring tombs, you take the helm of the journey and do all the heavy lifting. If he offers his help, you brush him off, insisting you can handle it. In your questionably protective tirade, you monopolize all his free time because you’re afraid to leave him to his own devices on his own incalculably dangerous planet. You’re setting agendas, but they’re not just for Dirk. They’re for Dirk _and_ Jake. You schedule his dates for him, make it so you’re practically spending every other day together so you can keep a watchful eye on him. He acts like he appreciates it.
    
              You know he doesn’t.
    
               That’s when you start to feel Jake pull away, and as soon as he does, you do what any panicking, love-sick teenager does: you push. If the distance between you grows, you close it. You don’t give him the space his actions hint at wanting, and you don’t compromise. You ignore anything implicit simply because it’s not explicit. Despite how much he likes to talk about himself, he doesn’t ever express what he wants, so your calculations can only be based on what you believe to be in his best interest, and his best interest just so happens to go hand-in-hand with your irrational need to control everything.
    
              The icing on the cake is that Jake resigns to react in the worst way possible: he goes along with your clingy bullshit. He humors you, lets you have your way, never complains to your face, though you suspect he saves that for when you catch him pestering Jane. If you get frustrated with him, he behaves like he doesn’t notice. He grins and acts like everything’s positively fuckin’ dandy all the time, and it annoys the piss out of you because you can tell he wants to say something, but you can’t read anything through that thick skull. And what do you do to address it? You bury your head in the god damn sand, pretending everything’s positively fuckin’ dandy. You can’t swallow your pride and just admit the train flew off the fucking tracks after it barely left the station because you’re terrified that confronting the problems multiplying between you will solidify the reality that you already failed.
    
              The reality that you and Jake... don’t work.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              You feel the chasm widen between you, and instead of proposing a bridge, you close your eyes and jump.
    
              The last couple months are the worst. Jake no longer looks you in the eye, even when it’s just the two of you. He doesn’t say much aside from noncommittal hums and dopey, throwaway phrases. If you venture out to collect grist, he hangs back and lets you do all the work without protest. When you pester him on the client, he responds less and less until he’s no longer responding at all.
    
              Around this time, you’re too busy pathetically shooting him message after message in a desperate attempt to get him to stop ignoring you to see what his actions reveal: two crucial pieces of minutiae that define Jake and ultimately shatter the illusion of his perfection in your eyes. But later... _now_, you have time to reflect on Jake’s deliberate escapism, his decisions that ignored your feelings and forced your hand at ending it between you instead of choosing to end it himself. Now you see just how self-centered Jake is, and by extension, he’s something that the past you would’ve found so laughably unlikely: manipulative.
    
              That’s right. Jake English is one manipulative bastard.
    
              It’s hilarious since you genuinely believe he’s unaware of it. In fact, you’re certain he has no idea how selfish he is, how little he cares when things have little to do with him. He’s so pre-occupied with trying to please everyone, to be _likeable_, that he doesn’t realize how self-serving his intentions are. He uses his charm like a tool to persuade others to take care of him even when he doesn’t ask for it. On a different front, you remember Roxy eventually telling you about how Jake put Jane on the spot regarding her feelings for him, surmise that he pressured her on purpose to make the decision for him so he didn’t have to deal with the guilt of choosing between you and Jane on his own. And again, when he pushed you away and waited out your misery until you hit a breaking point, he surrendered the final say. He threw the ball into your court so he didn’t have to carry the responsibility of the breakup.
    
              God, there’s just so much wrong with him. Your best bro is a fucking delusional wreck. He’s selfish, uses his obfuscating stupidity to live out fanciful whims, and has difficulty understanding and empathizing with people he’s known for years, let alone himself. In fact, you think he may understand himself the least, as disconnected as he is from his own identity. You suppose you’d be no different if you’d raised yourself almost exclusively on filmic principles and spent all your time convincing yourself of things you know are fallacious like he’s done.
    
              Now you’re caught up to the present, that is to say, sitting on your quest slab six months later with a shitty sugar high hangover, regretting pretty much everything. Following whatever fucking acid trip infected the four of you, you finally talk out your feelings for Jake with Jane like you should’ve done years ago. With what you’ve learned about him, it’s safe to say you’ve effectively snapped out of your impractical expectations. But when you pose the question of whether either of you might be totally over him to her, you know you’re being uncharacteristically optimistic.
    
              Regardless, you’re desperate to do your best and move on. Because out of everything you learned, all that time you spent dating, this sick weight in the pit of your stomach never budged, not even a little. It’s there now, even though you’ve been disillusioned, and all logic insists what you still feel isn’t healthy. Like a stone, it sits, a foul ugly reminder that Jake doesn’t view you in the same vein, and likely never will. But if that’s all it was, you could handle that. Accepting harsh realities comes as naturally as breathing for you.
    
              No. What you can’t stand is the virus nestled at the center of it, smoldering faintly like an ember too stubborn to yield its light.
    
              Hope.
    

> [Jake: Pity yourself.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/51057004#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this chapter solely an excuse to glorify Jake English? Yes. Yes it was.
> 
> It was also a completely self indulgent relationship analysis via Dirk. But eyyy, we're finally at the point of canon divergence, whadduup.


	15. Jake: Pity yourself.


              You don’t really want to be Jake right now. In fact, you’d love to be literally anyone else in this current moment in time, but you guess you have no choice. You’ll just have to deal with the culpability of having pretty much all your friends justly think you’re a giant asshole. It’s what you deserve, anyway. Roxy’s done her damnedest to reassure you that she doesn’t feel that way, but you’re finding it increasingly hard to believe her. It’s not like you treated her that much better during all that time you spent shitting on the other two’s feelings for you. To be frank, you can’t even remember the last time you hit her up solely to enjoy her company.
    
              Sweet Christ on a bicycle, you hope Jane finds it in her merciful heart to end your life quickly. Maybe if you ask Roxy nicely enough, she’ll be willing to make the request on your behalf.
    
              As if she can sense you about to message her, Roxy beats you to the punch. You blink through the accursed flashing of your skull helmet and have to read over her text multiple times for it to sink in, your head is pulsing so badly.
    
    
    
    
      
    
    TG: yo j
    TG: ur not feelin lyk... tremrs or sum sht r u?
    GT: Uh cant say that i am.
    GT: Why? Are you and dirk ok?
    TG: uh
    TG: the short answr is... maaybee?
    TG: ok prolly not
    GT: Roxy whats happening?
    TG: shit
    TG: shit shit sht
    TG: uh oh
    GT: !
    GT: Whats going on??
    GT: Speak to me!
    TG: i
    tipsyGnostalgic [TG]   ceased pestering   golgothasTerror [GT]
    
    
    __
             For a couple seconds, you lay there frozen, processing. Then you’re sitting up, ramrod straight. You tear off your skull helmet and meet eyes with Jane for the first time since that whole... lollipop fiasco. You imagine her expression of dread mirrors your own, probably having been cut off from Dirk mid-conversation in much the same way.
    
              She gathers her voice enough to start quietly, “Did you... And Roxy...?”
    
              You only nod. Then you gulp. “And Dirk?”
    
              She nods.
    
              What the hell just happened? You can’t help but assume the worst, but it should be fine, right? Even if they were... killed, or something, they were sitting on their quest slabs like you and Jane are now, so they would’ve ascended, right? _Right?!_
    
              You and Jane are caught off guard when a green flash from above captures your attention. You both look up to see a girl hovering nearby. She looks familiar. In fact, you suspect she looks a heck of a lot like how you would look if you were a fetching dame, but her complexion is... off. Off as in... an unusual shade of dark, like she could be a shadow of some kind. And are those dog ears on her head? She blinks down at you and Jane with her glowing chartreuse eyes and smiles, giving you mixed vibes of friendly and unfriendly. Her gaze lingers on you, sizing you up in a way that makes you feel a tad uncomfortable. Then as if she’s reached a conclusion, she nods sagely. You and Jane exchange glances of equal parts fear and bemusement.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              “Hi! You must be Jake,” she greets casually, completely throwing you for a loop. She waves, doesn’t wait for you to confirm or deny it, and glances at your friend. “Annddd... John’s Nanna. Jane, right?”
    
              Pardon, _whose_ Nana??
    
              Jane seems about as perplexed as you are. Hesitantly, owlishly, she says, “Um. Y... Yes? I suppose?”
    
              “Neat.”
    
              The stranger looks nonplussed by your reactions. She glances between you again and tuts. “Looks like you haven’t killed yourselves yet. Well that won’t do!” She makes a show of threading her fingers together and stretching, cracking her knuckles. “Let me give you a helping hand!”
    
              What in the Christmas frigs does _that_ mean?
    
              Is she... Has she come to kill you?!
    
              “The big boss lady has no use for you if you’re still in this useless state of pre-ascension. Besides, your friends just made god tier after she offed ‘em! You don’t wanna get left behind, do ya?” she asks merrily. You and Jane exchange another set of baffled glances. The girl’s a nutter!
    
              Terrifyingly enough, as if she can hear your shared thoughts, the fem!Jake look-alike gives you a wink. “Don’t worry. I’ll get it over with quickly.”
    
              Ah, frig.
    
              You don’t remember much of what happens next. There might’ve been another flash? A twinge of pain? It’s too hazy. You guess it felt hot, like _insanely_ hot. Was there an explosion? You suppose it’s not that important if you can’t even recall.
    
              What matters is that you’re floating now, rising while it feels like every molecule in your body is rearranging to accommodate something. Some kind of energy settles and expands within you, crystalizing, then condensing into something solid and impossibly heavy. It burrows and buries itself deep in your bosom before the feeling of it vanishes completely. You question if it was ever a thing at all. 
    
              When your eyes finally adjust, you see the dog girl first. Then you see Jane; she’s dressed in a comfortable looking garb with bandages wrapped about her ankles. It takes you a moment to notice she’s staring at you. Or rather, she’s staring blankly at your lower half. Confused, you peer down at yourself.
    
              Ah. You thought it felt a touch drafty. Where did your pants go? And since when did you own such a bright pair of yellow briefs?
    
              “Now that that’s done...” the strange girl speaks up again, catching your attention. She flicks her wrist at Jane and the motion seems oddly ominous to you. Seconds later, a small red object flashes into existence in your midst and zooms in Jane’s direction. Understandably, you panic. But just before it reaches her, another, much larger, blue flash blocks it.
    
              And a boy appears this time.
    
              Criminy! You wish all these flashing phenomena could at least give you some kind of warning before popping into reality like this!
    
              The boy isn’t facing you, so you can’t see what he looks like apart from his tousled black hair and bright blue clothing. Instead, your eyes are drawn to the ridiculous looking hammer in his grip. He has it raised across his chest and over his opposing shoulder as if he’s recently swung at something, and you finally realize that something was the red thing the dog girl summoned earlier. Judging by the stupefied look on her face and the hand caressing her forehead, he must’ve hit it back at her.
    
              “Whoops! Sorry, Jade,” you hear him apologize sheepishly.
    
              Wait. Jade? Pen pal Jade? Paradox grandma Jade? _That_ Jade?!
    
              What?!
    
              Oh. Then if that’s Jade, could this bloke be...?
    
              “John?!” she cries furiously, incidentally answering your mental query. She also looks a bit incredulous, like she’s not entirely sure if what she’s seeing is real. It’s almost like she’s looking at a ghost.
    
              You really wish you had the slightest inkling as to what’s taking place in front of you, but at least Jane is just as lost as you are.
    
              Then Jade bares her teeth, growling while the space around her crackles with green. If she looked angry before, it’s nothing compared to the murderous intent you now feel rippling off her in waves. “_John!!_” she repeats, enraged.
    
              He whistles, nonchalantly places his hands on his hips like the feral girl before him _isn’t_ about to throwdown. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you’re possessed? Whatever it is, it doesn’t look good. But don’t worry, Jade. If I have to, I’ll come back for you. I promise,” he assures her, tone dabbling somewhere between cheer and regret. That’s when he glances over his shoulder at you and Jane and smiles. The resemblance between him and Jane is uncanny. He resembles you quite a bit too, honestly.
    
              “_Don’t you dare!_” Jade barks, but John ignores her.
    
              “Gotta get you two out of here first. I’d tell you to hold onto your pants, but looks like one of you isn’t wearing any,” he laughs.
    
              You don’t even have time to be embarrassed when you feel a bright ethereal aura overtake you and the youthful face of your grandmother fades out of sight.
    

> [Jake: Abscond with Jane & John.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/51140746#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We bouta get into multi-k word pages now y'all, eyyy.
> 
> About got dang time.


	16. Jake: Abscond with Jane & John.


              When you can think again, it takes you a hot minute to comprehend what’s happened, mostly because you’re left thoroughly discombobulated after being manhandled by whatever the hell that just was. Felt a bit like a breeze. But you do get your bearings back eventually. As soon as that happens, you realize you’ve been dropped someplace completely foreign to you. Talk about winds of change! At least you’re away from that presumably possessed version of your grandma. You feel bad for thinking it, but she scared the bejeezus out of you. Suffice to say, it wasn’t the kind of happy reunion you imagined.
    
              “Roxy! Dirk!”
    
              You nearly jump out of your skin when Jane shouts to your left. You’d almost forgotten she was with you, to be honest. Before your eyes even find her, she’s already running off—er, floating off, you mean. Or perhaps stumbling off. Her feet awkwardly skim the ground as she tries to trot only to be mostly propelled by some unseen force that deems gravity meaningless.
    
              Flicking your gaze past her, you feel your breath catch in your throat. Not but twenty yards away stand your other two friends, adorned in spiffy new god tier outfits, turning at the sound of their names. Roxy catches Jane in open arms, and Dirk steps close, speaking words you can’t hear, but he looks relieved. If there was a smile on your face at the sight of them, it’s already gone. You’re thankful, _so very thankful_, that they’re alive and well. But in your heart, you know you’re the last person they want to see or talk to. As painful as it is, you keep your distance and let them have their reunion.
    
              “You’re not going over there?”
    
              You bristle, snapping your attention to the boy who brought you here in the first place. He peers at you with a curious, azure gaze behind spectacles not unlike your own, but for the first time in a while, you don’t feel uncomfortable. This may be the first time you’ve officially met, but a part of you feels like you’ve known him for years.
    
              You shrug, tugging your hood down because having it up makes you feel sillier than you already do, if that’s even possible. You suppose it’s no coincidence that your god tier clothes look as fatuous as you are. You glance one more time at your friend group sans you before turning back to him once more. “I regret to say it’s perhaps better that I don’t,” you say carefully.
    
              John tilts his head, raises an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”
    
              You sigh. “Uhm... Well, it’s a bit of a long story, and one I’d rather not tackle right now, if you don’t mind.” You don’t give him much time to respond before you flip focus to your own wondering. “What is this place?”
    
              “Oh!” He looks around and smiles. “The Land of Wind and Shade, my planet. Though the shade is gone now since I finished my quest. Now it’s more like the Land of Wind and Fireflies,” he comments just as a firefly buzzes close and hovers over his outstretched finger. “To be honest, this is just the first place that came to mind to get you all out of there.”
    
              You’re not altogether sure what to say, nor if you should be understanding why exactly this is where events have taken you, so you ask something else instead. “How did you know to come find us after we ascended?” You pause. “Or... were you even supposed to? I’m not altogether certain what went on there.”
    
              John opens his mouth like he’s ready to answer, but then he squints as if he’s just remembered something. He hesitates, seemingly formulating a new response in place of what he originally wanted to say.
    
              “Well, I... It’s really hard to explain. I zapped around time and space aimlessly for a while after some stuff happened, until I met this troll girl in a Dream Bubble. And I think she messed with my head a little bit? Then everything went _really_ wrong and another troll girl told me to fix it all, and that’s kind of been what I’m trying to do. Or I guess I’m done now. You were the last loose end after I brought my planet to your session. I know we haven’t met yet, but I have memories of you guys and I thought if I came and got you before shit hit the fan, maybe it wouldn’t hit the fan as hard?” He pauses, making a face as if he’s bitten into something sour. Then he throws both hands up to scratch the back of his head in frustration. “Ugh! That probably doesn’t make any sense to you, and I wanna tell you more, but god, there’s so much I’d have to explain! And I should probably drop you guys off at the village or something,” he says suddenly, like it’d completely slipped his mind. He turns away, about to walk off, but then he swivels back and holds his hand out to you. “Almost forgot! I’m John, by the way.”
    
              Despite how lost you are with everything he’s just unloaded on you, you can’t help but return his friendly grin when you accept his hand. It’s infectious. And honestly? It’s nice to talk to someone who’s seemingly as scatterbrained as you are for once. It’s lonely sometimes when all your friends are practically geniuses.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              “A pleasure to finally meet you, chap. I’m that Jake fellow that sent you the letter with the bunny all those years ago, as I wager you’ve already guessed.” You share one, two good shakes, and then your hands drop. John takes a moment to point a look at your friends. He must’ve captured someone’s attention because he gestures them to follow before stepping off. You keep pace with him, surprised when the other three hang back rather than catch up to join you. Surely, they have questions for the boy that just saved you all? Regardless, a significantly large part of you prefers the distance, for obvious reasons. You don’t think you can face Dirk yet. Hell, now that you’re out of imminent danger, you can probably barely face Jane.
    
               “So, what’s the deal with this village you mentioned?” you find yourself asking, if only to fill the silence as you walk. The village sounds like the least confusing subject to inquire about anyway. You can hear your friends speaking in hushed tones behind you, and frankly, you’d rather not listen at all if you can help it.
    
              “Where my consorts live,” he replies. He goes on to expound further, but what he says next only has you more confused than before. “I think my friends are gonna arrive here soon. Well, not _here_ specifically, but somewhere in the Medium. Y’know, on a meteor. I think that’s what’s supposed to happen? It’s a bit fuzzy.”
    
              You put your bewilderment on hold when something rumbles inside your Sylladex, so you take a quick peek to see all your computers lighting up with messages. You can’t tell who it is without taking one of them out, and unfortunately, Jane still has your cellphone since you lent it to her on your quest slabs. You don’t really want to throw your skull helmet on while in the middle of this conversation with John, because that would be incredibly rude. With a mental shrug, you decide that whoever it is that’s messaging you can wait a bit.
    
              “I’m afraid you’ve completely lost me,” you confess.
    
              “Yeah, sorry. It’s a lot of bullshit and I think I have memories that don’t belong to me because they’re from the future? But at the same time, I don’t think it’s _my_ future so much as it’s like... another John’s...” he trails off, appearing frustrated again. You can practically see him choose a different route with his explanation this time. “You know what? Just ignore all that. It’s probably not important for anyone else to know except me anyway. When my friends get here, I’m sure one of them will have some kind of game plan for the final battle. Hopefully they’ll get you all caught up while I’m gone,” he adds after a beat.
    
              You frown, a little disheartened. “Well, can’t say that doesn’t put a damper on my spirits. I thought you were done with correcting all that gobbledygook? Where are you headed off to in such a rush?” you ask. The chorus of rumbling in your deck continues. You continue to ignore it.
    
              “Oh, I’m not zapping away again or anything; I’m done with that. I’m just going to see a friend, so I’ll be back...” He scratches the back of his head again, though much less angrily this time, and scrunches up his face like he’s deciding how much he wants to say. “I’m really hoping I’ve done enough to stabilize this timeline, because the one I left, um... From what I understand, I’m from the future of a doomed session. So there’s probably another John running around right now, blissfully oblivious. Or at least, that’s what I’d _like_ to think, but I get the feeling that he’s already dead.”
    
              “Cripes, that sounds like a doozy!” you exclaim, mostly because you have no idea how else to react to the convoluted nonsense he just threw at you. John blinks, then he throws his head back and laughs. “Yeah, that’s one way to phrase it!” You’re relieved to see him relax after that.
    
              It doesn’t take long to reach the village, hastened by you and John chatting about this and that along the way. He explains a bit about his experiences playing the game, but like everything else he’s mentioned so far, most of it goes over your head. He says it’s fine if it does, because most of it has gone over his head too. As you cross through a gate, little bipedal salamanders seem to spring up all around to greet you. Well, to greet John mostly, but they take an interest in you too, poking and nuzzling your legs so you can be reminded you are still basically running around in nothing but underwear. They’re cute though, barely coming up to your knees in height. You wonder if your long dead iguana consorts would’ve been this cute.
    
              Yet again, your Sylladex catches your attention. If they’re this persistent, it might be an emergency. Also, you and John have come to a stop since entering the area and you’re not too keen on the other three finally joining you. You glance around at him and point a thumb over your shoulder down one of the many pathways that seem to lead deeper into the village. “Mind if I take a stroll? The old noggin could use a bit of clearing.”
    
              He shakes his head, smiles. “Not at all! You should be safe as long as you stay in town.”
    
              “Hey, John!”
    
              Jane’s voice. You take that as your cue to spin on your heel and stride off as quickly as you can without making it look incredibly obvious you’re making some kind of escape. It’s probably obvious regardless. It’s not like you look back to make sure they’re not all staring after your blatant retreat. Once you’re out of sight, you pop the skullcap out of your inventory and slide it over your head. When you finally see who it is that’s been trying to get your attention so badly, you sigh, annoyed.
    
              Sheesh. How long has he been trying to jeer you? There’s no time stamp on the memo but you suspect it’s been a good bit.
    
    
    
    
    undyingUmbrage [uu] began jeering golgothasTerror [GT] 
    
    
    uu: YOU.
    uu: JAKE HUMAN.
    uu: ANSWER ME.
    uu: YOU PATHETIC PANSY SNIFFLER.
    uu: IF YOU WERE THE LEAST BIT CONSIDERATE AS YOU SO INSUFFERABLY AND WRONGLY CLAIM TO BE. YOU WOULD REPLY THIS INSTANT. I SUSPECT YOUR EXCUSE IS THAT YOU ARE DISTRACTED BY SOMETHING UNDOUBTEDLY STUPID AND FAR LESS IMPORTANT THAN ME.
    uu: IS THAT IT?
    uu: I DON’T ASK THIS QUESTION IRONICALLY. BECAUSE THE MONITOR UPON WHICH I TYPICALLY VIEW YOUR OBNOXIOUS FACE SEEMS TO BE MALFUNCTIONING.
    uu: AND TRUST ME WHEN I SAY THAT UNDER NORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES. BEING SPARED FROM CASTING MY EYES ON YOUR REPULSIVE HEAD GRAIN AND HIDEOUS TEETH WOULD BE A BLESSING.
    uu: BUT RIGHT NOW. IT’S JUST INCONVENIENT.
    uu: WHERE ARE YOU?
    uu: SERIOUSLY. I NEED TO KNOW YOUR LOCATION.
    uu: IT’S IMPORTANT.
    uu: EXPONENTIALLY MORE IMPORTANT THAN LITERALLY ANYTHING YOU COULD CONCEIVABLY BE DOING RIGHT NOW.
    uu: BUT HEY. JUST DROP INTO THE CONVERSATION AT ANY POINT I GUESS.
    -- undyingUmbrage [uu] is now an idle chum! --
    uu: WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY BE DOING THAT YOU’RE NOT NOTICING ALL THESE MESSAGES?
    uu: I KNOW THAT FOR WHATEVER REASON. YOU HAVE LIKE SIX COMPUTERS ON YOU AT ALL TIMES. YOU’VE FLAUNTED THEIR UTILITY TO ME ONCE BEFORE. I’VE ALSO SEEN THAT THEY ARE ALL IN THE LIKENESS OF ME.
    uu: WHY? BECAUSE YOU ARE A CREEPY FUCK JEALOUS OF MY SWAGGER PROBABLY.
    uu: THAT’S MY GUESS ANYWAY.
    uu: IT MAKES SENSE CONSIDERING YOU SEVERELY LACK ANY SWAGGER OF YOUR OWN.
    uu: BECAUSE YOU SUCK.
    uu: ANYWAY. THE POINT IS THAT YOU HAVE SEVERAL DEVICES ON YOUR PERSON CAPABLE OF RECEIVING MY JEERS. SO THERE’S NO EXCUSE.
    uu: IS IT THAT YOU WANT ME TO BEG?
    uu: YOU’RE A SICK GUY JAKE.
    uu: ALSO FUCK YOU.
    uu: EVEN IF I WAS BREATHING MY LAST BREATH AND YOU WERE THE ONLY ONE AROUND WITH THE OPPORTUNITY TO SAVE MY LIFE. I WOULD NEVER STOOP SO LOW AS TO PLEA FROM YOU ANYTHING.
    -- undyingUmbrage [uu] is now an idle chum! --
    uu: JAKE. IT’S BEEN LIKE TWENTY MINUTES. OR MORE. TIME HAS LITTLE MEANING WHEN YOU’RE THE LORD OF IT.
    uu: THAT AND THIS STATION DOESN’T APPEAR TO HAVE A TIMEPIECE ANYWHERE IN IT.
    uu: USELESS. JUST LIKE YOU.
    uu: WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?
    uu: ARE YOU STILL ON YOUR SHITTY PROSPITIAN QUEST SARSWAPAGUS? HAVE YOU DIED YET? JUST KILL YOURSELF ALREADY.
    uu: I CAN’T BE THE FIRST GUY TO COMMAND YOU TO DO SO.
    uu: I WOULD NOT BE SURPRISED IF YOUR SPECTACULARLY SMALL MIND FORGOT THAT DYING IS EXACTLY WHAT YOU’RE MEANT TO DO. IT’S UNBELIEVABLY SIMPLE JAKE. REALLY.
    uu: BUT I BET YOU SOMEHOW FOUND SOME WAY TO FUCK IT UP.
    uu: THE ONLY THING THAT CAN COMPETE WITH THE NEGATIVE LENGTH OF YOUR ATTENTION SPAN IS THE IMPRESSIVE UTTER ABSENCE OF YOUR COGNITIVE ABILITIES.
    uu: OKAY. FINE. KEEP IGNORING ME.
    uu: MAYBE I’LL JUST ASK YOUR INFINITELY MORE COMPETENT BOYTOY TO HELP ME INSTEAD.
    uu: HOW WOULD THAT MAKE YOU FEEL? YOU’D REGRET IGNORING MY JEERS THEN. I’M SURE.
    uu: KNOWING HE WOULD FIND MY COMPANY FAR MORE STIMULATING THAN ALL THE TIME YOU SPENT TOGETHER MANBROING IT UP.
    uu: DOES THE TRUTH THAT HE WOULD BE GAY WITH ME FAR MORE THAN HE EVER WAS WITH YOU BRING YOU AGGRAVATION?
    uu: PREPARE FOR ALL THE SHIT SPEAKING WE WILL DO ABOUT YOU. AND HOW WHOLLY INADEQUATE YOU ARE AS A LIFEFORM.
    uu: INEVITABLY YOU WILL CRY.
    uu: BECAUSE THAT’S ALL YOU SEEM TO BE GOOD AT.
    -- undyingUmbrage [uu] is now an idle chum! --
    uu: OKAY. I MIGHT HAVE BEEN BLUFFING.
    uu: I CAN’T CONSULT THAT ASSHOLE FOR THIS. HE WOULD JUST RUIN EVERYTHING.
    uu: YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE I CAN TRUST WITH THIS JAKE.
    uu: DOESN’T THAT MAKE YOU FEEL SPECIAL? LIKE YOU’RE SOMEHOW. AGAINST ALL ODDS. IMPORTANT?
    uu: IT PHYSICALLY PAINS ME THAT IT’S COME TO THIS.
    uu: BUT I NEED YOU TO DO THIS FOR ME.
    uu: AND BELIEVE ME WHEN I SAY THERE IS LITERALLY NO ONE ELSE IN THE VICINITY THAT WILL LISTEN TO MY WISDOM MORE QUALIFIED.
    uu: SO. HELP ME JAKE ENGLISH.
    uu: YOU’RE MY ONLY HOPE.
    
    
    
     
              You sigh for the... How many times did you sigh while reading through all that? The answer is a lot. So many times, you would’ve lost count if you’d been counting. It’s stupid, but his last two lines are what convince you to respond. He more than likely doesn’t even realize what he’s just paid homage to, but great movie references are your Achilles’ Heel, so you can’t resist.
    
    
    
    
      
      
    
    GT: What do you want?
    uu: FUCKING FINALLY.
    uu: I SEE THAT IT TAKES APPEALING TO YOUR CONCEIT TO GET YOUR ATTENTION.
    uu: I’LL KEEP THAT IN MIND FOR THE FUTURE.
    uu: THOUGH IF EVERYTHING WORKS OUT THE WAY IT’S SUPPOSED TO. I WON’T EVER HAVE TO AGONIZE THROUGH YOUR MINDLESS DRIVEL EVER AGAIN.
    GT: Whats this? It seems my thumb is slowly navigating towards the block button.
    GT: By jove its like it has a mind of its own!
    uu: NO. TELL YOUR THUMB TO SHOVE ITSELF UP YOUR ASS OR SOMETHING.
    uu: WHAT I NEED YOU FOR IS FAR TOO IMPORTANT TO BE INCONVENIENCED BY YOUR HAND DIGITS SUDDENLY BECOMING SENTIENT.
    GT: Then i suggest you get to the point.
    GT: I cant hold these bad boys back for long.
    uu: GOD. I CAN’T BELIEVE I ALMOST FORGOT HOW MUCH OF A DOUCHE YOU ARE.
    uu: IT SICKENS ME THAT I NEED YOU.
    GT: Likewise.
    GT: Thought you said i had nothing to offer you?
    uu: WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT??
    GT: Lets see... How did you put it?
    GT: Something like the very idea that i could in any way improve your existence is almost as offensive as my flagrant racism?
    uu: AS ACCURATE TO ME AS THAT SOUNDS. AND IT DOES SOUND PRETTY ACCURATE BECAUSE I REMEMBER BEING VICTIM TO THAT VILE RACISM YOU INDUBITABLY HAVE. I KNOW FOR THE RECORD THAT I HAVE NEVER SAID ANYTHING LIKE THAT EVER. YOU ARE TRYING TO PLAY FOOLISH MIND TRICKS ON ME AND IT WON’T WORK BECAUSE I’M FAR TOO SMART.
    GT: For the record huh? I think i can pull up the log. That way we can know for sure.
    uu: NO. JAKE. YOU STUPID FUCK.
    uu: WE DON’T HAVE TIME FOR YOUR POINTLESS FACT CHECKING.
    uu: I DON’T NEED YOU FINDING PROOF THAT I’M RIGHT BECAUSE I ALREADY KNOW I AM.
    uu: SO ANY LOG PULLING YOU DO WOULD BE A COMPLETE WASTE OF MY TIME.
    GT: To be fair id only be returning the favor.
    uu: DAMN. WHAT CRAWLED UP YOUR ASS AND SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUSTED?
    uu: YOU WERE SO MUCH MORE AMENABLE LAST WE TALKED.
    uu: WHICH WASN’T EVEN THAT LONG AGO.
    GT: Yeah? And where did that get me?
    GT: You sent me the code for your shitty jujube or whatever and like an idiot i didnt think twice before forwarding it to jane as some silly garbled means to make amends with her after that awful conversation we had and...
    uu: AND WHAT?
    uu: WHAT HAPPENED?
    GT: It all went to shit!
    GT: It infected her with some scary sugar high folly that she spread to the rest of us and we all wasted so much time prattling on about polyamorous matrimony amongst other scandalous subjects!
    GT: Not to mention all the grist we threw away alchemizing things we don’t need!
    uu: HAHAHA.
    uu: THAT’S SO STUPID.
    uu: KDJLNFGLAIEURYBFGKHTL;
    GT: It was!!!
    uu: MY SIDES HURT FROM LAUGHING SO HARD.
    uu: WHY ARE HUMANS SO FUCKING DUMB?
    GT: ITS NOT FUNNY!!
    GT: After everything thats happened id be flabbergasted if any of my friends ever want to speak to me again!
    GT: And its all YOUR FAULT!!!!!!!
    uu: HOWEVER MISPLACED YOUR BLAME IS. THE IDEA THAT I PLAYED A PART IN YOUR JOINT SUFFERING BRINGS ME GREAT PLEASURE.
    GT: Misplaced?! If you hadnt sent me the blasted thing in the first place!!!!!
    GT: None of this wouldve happened the way it did!
    uu: BELIEVE ME WHEN I SAY WHATEVER BULLSHIT HAPPENED BETWEEN YOU AND YOUR BITCHES WAS A LONG TIME COMING.
    uu: IF ANYTHING. ALL MY JUJU DID WAS HELP RIP THE BANDAGES OFF.
    uu: YOU SHOULD BE THANKING ME.
    GT: Bollocks to that!
    GT: I will do no such thing!
    GT: Ugh! Why am i even talking to you??
    GT: Youre the most despicable person....alien.troll...cherub WHATEVER!!
    uu: WELL THAT WAS INCREDIBLY RACIST.
    GT: I DONT CARE!!!!!!!!!!!!
    GT: IVE NEVER HATED ANYONE BEFORE IN MY ENTIRE LIFE SO I HAVE TO CONGRATULATE YOU ON BEING THE FIRST!
    GT: SO CONGRATS LAD. KUDOS. YOURE THE ONE. ITS YOU.
    GT: YOU ARE IRREVOCABLY
    GT: WITHOUT EQUAL
    GT: THE FUCKING WORST.
    uu: THANK YOU.
    uu: BUT AS AMUSING AS YOUR EMOTIONAL BREAKDOWN IS.
    uu: TRULY FANTASTICALLY AMUSING.
    uu: I DID ACTUALLY HAVE SOMETHING I WANTED TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT BEFORE WE VEERED SO HILARIOUSLY OFF TOPIC.
    GT: AGH!!
    GT: IM TELLING YOU THERES NOTHING YOU HAVE TO SAY THAT I WANT TO HEAR.
    uu: NO. JAKE. SHUT UP.
    uu: FOR FUCKS SAKE. I CAN PRACTICALLY HEAR THE SHOUTING IN YOUR WORDS.
    GT: MAYBE BECAUSE I AM.
    GT: IM SHOUTING YOU BLOODY HYPOCRITE!!!!
    uu: JAKE. FIRST. TURN YOUR CAPS LOCK OFF.
    uu: TALKING IN ALL CAPS IS MY THING. AND FRANKLY. OUR WORDS ARE BEGINNING TO BLUR TOGETHER SO IT’S HARD TO TELL WHICH ONE OF US IS TALKING.
    uu: BUT LISTEN. I HAVE ANOTHER GIFT FOR YOU.
    GT: BY THE DEVILS DICK DID YOU NOT READ ANYTHING I JUST SAID?
    GT: KEEP IT. I DONT WANT ANYTHING FROM YOU.
    uu: FOR THE SAKE OF MY SANITY BECAUSE I DIDN’T MEAN FOR THIS STUPID CONVERSATION TO DRAG ON THIS LONG. I’M JUST GOING TO CONTINUE TELLING YOU WHAT YOU NEED TO DO AS IF YOU’RE NOT SO RUDELY INTERRUPTING ME EVERY OTHER SENTENCE.
    uu: THE TRUTH IS THAT IT ACTUALLY WASN’T MEANT FOR YOU.
    uu: BUT MY IDIOT RESIDENT CLOWN THING MISSPELLED THE NAME OF THE RECIPIENT WHEN HE LOADED IT ON THE TRANSPORTALIZER. SO INSTEAD IT WENT TO YOU.
    uu: BY THAT I MEAN IT WENT TO WHATEVER TRANSPORTALIZER PLATFORM IS LOCATED NEAREST TO YOU.
    GT: Is that so?
    GT: How long ago did you send it?
    GT: Because if it was a while ago your stupid present might be somewhere on prospit.
    GT: Which good riddance.
    uu: IT’S NOT.
    uu: I MEAN. I DID SEND IT PROBABLY WHILE YOU WERE WAITING TO DIE.
    uu: BUT IT DIDN’T GET SENT TO PROSPIT.
    GT: How do you know?
    uu: BECAUSE I CAN SEE IT APPEARED ON A TRANSPORTALIZER PLATFORM LOCATED ON A PLANET I DON’T RECOGNIZE.
    uu: AND IF IT’S THERE. THAT MEANS YOU PROBABLY ARE TOO.
    GT: How does that make any sense timewise?
    uu: I DON’T KNOW.
    uu: AND IF I KNEW HOW IT WORKED I SURE AS HELL WOULDN’T WASTE MY TIME TRYING TO EXPLAIN IT TO YOU.
    GT: Smells like a gaping plot hole dude.
    uu: SMELLS LIKE SHUT THE FUCK UP.
    uu: SOMEWHERE NEAR YOU IS A TRANSPORTALIZER PLATFORM. UPON WHICH YOUR GIFT HAS APPEARED. GIVEN GENEROUSLY BY ME.
    uu: THERE WAS SOMEONE FAR MORE QUALIFIED THAN YOU THAT I MEANT TO GIVE IT TO ORIGINALLY. BUT AS I’VE ALREADY TOLD YOU THOSE PLANS FELL THROUGH.
    uu: ALL BECAUSE YOUR RIDICULOUSLY SIMPLE NAMES WERE JUST TOO SIMILAR FOR THE FAIRY CLOWN TROLL TO DIFFERENTIATE.
    uu: BUT AFTER SOME SPECULATION. I’VE DECIDED ALLOWING YOU TO RECEIVE IT INSTEAD MIGHT BE COMPARATIVELY INTERESTING. GIVEN WHAT THE FUTURE HAS IN STORE FOR US BOTH.
    uu: AND OUR PREORDAINED MUTUAL OWNAGE.
    uu: THUS I ENDOW YOU WITH A BOON UNLIKE ANYTHING YOU’VE EVER KNOWN.
    uu: SO APPRECIATE IT THIS TIME. YOU UNGRATEFUL FUCK.
    GT: Forget it. Whatever it is im not going near it.
    uu: YOU MIGHT AS WELL.
    uu: BECAUSE IF YOU DON’T. I’M SIMPLY GOING TO CONVINCE ONE OF YOUR IDIOT FRIENDS TO GO GET IT INSTEAD.
    GT: What makes you think theyll listen to you?
    GT: Unlike me theyre smart enough to ignore your senseless jeering.
    uu: WELL. THERE’S ONLY ONE WAY TO FIND OUT.
    uu: SERIOUSLY THOUGH. AREN’T YOU SICK OF BEING A CANDYASS?
    uu: IN EVERY SENSE OF WHAT THAT MAY IMPLY?
    uu: MY PRESENT IS GOING TO MAKE LIFE BETTER FOR YOU.
    uu: SO IT’S PRETTY NARROW-MINDED OF YOU TO REJECT IT BEFORE YOU’VE EVEN LOOKED AT IT.
    uu: CONSIDER IT A TOKEN FROM YOUR PATRON MANBRO.
    uu: IN CELEBRATION OF THE COMMON GROUND THAT ALLOWS US TO BE GAY TOGETHER.
    GT: God youre so...
    GT: Is that it then?
    GT: If i find this stupid thing will you leave me and my friends alone?
    uu: SURE.
    GT: Fine.
    GT: Cant promise ill run into it though.
    uu: DON’T WORRY. YOU WILL.
    GT: Uhuh.
    GT: Should i tell you when i find it or?
    uu: THAT WON’T BE NECESSARY. I’LL KNOW.
    GT: Right...
    undyingUmbrage [uu] ceased jeering golgothasTerror [GT]
    
    
    
     
              You don’t waste time pulling your skull helmet back off. The flashing lights in the lenses were eager to recall your briefly forgotten headache. You captchalogue it, notice you’d stopped walking at some point during that dumb memo—probably around when you lost it and started yelling at him, you bet. Glancing around to observe the area tells you pretty much nothing aside from the fact that you haven’t accidentally left the village. Some of the little salamander consorts have taken to approaching you with interest, but they go on their way once satisfied with whatever they’ve gathered upon scrutiny. You yank your attention away from them and try to think.
    
              He said it would be nearby, right? That doesn’t give you much to work with. For all you know, there’s only one Transportalizer platform on this planet, and with your luck, it’s located halfway around the globe. Which would be fine, because then none of you are likely to find it. But a small part of you reasons that leaving whatever it is alone could be dangerous. What if it’s a bomb? Or worse? No. It’s better that you find it so you can dispose of it properly at the very least.
    
              With a huff, you pick a direction and start walking.
    
              You pass a good amount of time merely wandering aimlessly, but this is the first time you’ve felt at ease since lollipop Jane cornered you on LOMAX, which already seems so long ago. Wandering aimlessly reminds you of home, however different the setting here is. The salamanders are a nice alternative to the monsters, you think.
    
              Oh.
    
              That’s it! The salamanders! You utter buffoon! The answer was right under your nose all along!
    
              You halt, looking down at some of the consorts that have been following you through the last few curves in the road. They blink up at you in wide-eyed awe, obviously fascinated by whatever it is they think you are. Or maybe they just like your silly outfit. Either seems likely. Some of them march in place and blow large blue bubbles up in your direction. Man, are they cute. You drop down in a crouch so you can look at them properly, and instantly they pad closer to you, seemingly excited. You feel a couple crawl onto your back and start dancing, which pulls a hearty laugh from your chest. They don’t make any noise aside from the bubble blowing, and you briefly wonder if that’s the way they communicate. If you spoke to them, would they understand you? Only one way to find out.1
    
              “Hey there, lads,” you say, taking care to avoid the bubbles that get blown toward your face in response. You focus on a salamander that’s perched itself rather calmly directly in front of you. Because it’s not dancing wildly in place, you can actually take a good look at it while it stares quietly back. You notice these little moppets have orange eyes, a shade or two darker than...
    
              “Ahem. Could any of you spare a moment to help out a poor fool? I’m in a bit of a bind right now.”
    
              Some of the horde stops their radical bouncing to match the calmer salamanders that were already watching you curiously. In fact, soon all of them have settled down, attention undivided. You hope that’s a good sign.
    
              You cough again behind a curled fist, glancing around the golden sea of humanoid amphibians before continuing. “You see, there’s a platform somewhere around here that I need to find. Uhm... It’s like a flat circle and...”
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              They all peer at you silently. Blankly.
    
              Wow. You feel really silly now. How could they possibly understand you?
    
              You drop your head and take a deep breath, but just as you do, you see it. There, out of the corner of your eye.
    
              A stick.
    
              Perfect.
    
              You reach for it, some of the consorts scampering back when you grab it, only to scuttle closer when they see you move to drag the end of it across the dirt. First you draw a circle—the easy part. Now you have to remember what the symbol looks like. You remember a triangle in the middle, but all the angles overlapping it are significantly more difficult to visualize. If you could just break it down into basic shapes...
    
              You hum, use your hand to erase the lines you’ve made on top of the triangle because they look wrong. Were they smaller triangles? Maybe... bowties? That might be it...
    
              You mess with the composition a bit, admiring how patiently the salamanders watch you work. After a minute, you don’t quite have it down, but the salamander directly in front of you starts blowing bubbles at you, legs kicking out beneath it haphazardly. Then more pipe up, startling you. Some start to push at your waist and legs while others turn to trot down a path to your left.
    
              Eureka! You think it worked!
    
              Excited, you pop up and let them shepherd you along. The couple that were on your back alternate between swinging from your cape and draping over your shoulders, but you hardly notice them. Soon enough, the herd leads you to a small clearing near what seems to be the edge of the village, well hidden beneath thickly woven trees. In the middle of it sits the familiar shape of a Transportalizer, and in the center of it sits a plump, bright orange, hollowed out pumpkin.
    

> [Roxy: Check out the new eye candy.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/51731557#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I evidently don't know the science behind Tranportalizers and can say for a fact that they definitely don't work the way I used them here. So why did I do it the way I did?
> 
> Because fuck you, that's why.
> 
> Notes:  
1) You've prolly noticed by now that I changed up the Consorts regarding size and ability to communicate. In canon, they're actually about as big as the kids, which ngl, freaks me out a lil. Assumedly, they're also able to speak human language, though we've only really gotten to see them talk to John. I'd forgotten both facts when I was writing this part originally and went with my headcanon that they're basically halflings and only their corresponding player can understand what they're saying.


	17. Roxy: Check out the new eye candy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm back from my 4 month hiatus and am now going to (try and) post regularly again. K, thanks. Bye.
    
    
              You are now conveniently someone else, and that someone else is currently sizing up who you’ve come to understand is your best friend’s hunky grandpa. Or grandson. Whichever.
    
              You want to clap your hands together and pray thanks to whatever deity decided all of your friends and their relatives should be super attractive, because _man_, you hit the jackpot. Dirk, Jake, and Janey were all their own brands of attractive; you’d smooch every single one of them at every opportunity if you knew they were comfortable with it. And so fittingly, adorable Jane’s dear ecto-son stood with her in a category called “Sugar”, which you reserved for sparkling eyes and sweet smiles. Both had the air of being experts at cuddles–definitely your type. You’d wrap your arms around the boy right now if you weren’t certain that would be completely inappropriate. So you responsibly keep your twitching hands at your sides while you watch Dirk and John talk about the session.
    
              It doesn’t help that he keeps glancing at you and sending those sweet as hell smiles, however.
    
              You lean over to whisper in Jane’s ear, “I’mma be straight with you, Janey. Your homeboy is cu-hu-hute, with a capital ‘C’. Like _damn_. Cuddle me, granddaddy Crocker. I’m ready.”
    
              Predictably, Jane sputters, a bright blush quick to bloom on her precious apple cheeks. “Roxy Lalonde!” she croaks in a hoarse whisper, successful in not drawing the attention of the boys conversing nearby. “That’s...! You shouldn’t...!” She flounders, confused as to how to react because you suspect she knows being upset in any way wouldn’t make much sense, but she probably feels like she should be regardless because that is her _grandfather_ you’re ogling!
    
              You shrug, amused. “You know I wouldn’t have been able to keep it a secret for long. Cute eligible bachelors are my weakness.”
    
              The comment succeeds in calming her down. Then she huffs, smiling. “Don’t I know it.”
    
              You glance around, reminded that not all of you are present. “Speaking of cute eligible bachelors... Jake’s been gone for a while now, hasn’t he? I’m starting to worry he fell down a well or something,” you say, twisting about as though you’re more likely to spot him the more you stretch and contort yourself. Jane’s smile vanishes, worry mirrored in her frown. “Me too. He strode off with such purpose earlier, I thought maybe he had something he needed to take care of? But I didn’t think he’d be gone quite this long.”
    
              She blinks, then upturns her hand where Jake’s phone pops out of her Sylladex into existence. You forgot she’d been using it to talk to you and Dirk on your quest slabs earlier. “His phone was buzzing a good bit a while ago. I didn’t pay much attention to it because so much was going on.” She clicks it on to view the push notifications, grimaces. “Looks like Calliope’s asshole brother was trying to get his attention. I don’t know how to unlock his phone to see what he said though.”
    
              “Ooooh, hand it over, baby girl. As you know, I am a seasoned hacker,” you drawl, leaning into her as you take a closer look at the screen. You can practically feel her roll her eyes, but she passes the device to you without much hesitation.
    
              It’s not in your hand for more than a minute before you almost drop it because violent tremors are now shaking the ground beneath your feet, nearly knocking you and Jane over.
    
              “Hoooly shit, what??” you gasp, fanning your arms out in a messy attempt to steady the both of you while she clings to your shoulder. You think you hear Dirk call out to you but it’s hard to hear him past the rumbling. It lasts for five to ten seconds maybe before it starts to settle and you can collect yourself enough to look over at where the boys are—
    
              —where they’re floating in midair and therefore unperturbed since, unlike you two, they didn’t just get tossed about by a random earthquake. You totally forgot you can fly now. Pfft.
    
              Dirk and John hover closer, concerned. “You guys alright?” Dirk asks with a raised brow. If you squint, you’re sure you can spot the ghost of a smirk on his dumb gorgeous face. Asshole.
    
              “Yeah, we’re fine,” Jane replies with a nod. She’s still clinging to you, clearly shaken (haha, good one, Roxy). “Are earthquakes like that normal on your planet, John?”
    
              He shakes his head, visibly perplexed. “Not that I’ve experienced ever.”
    
              “That’s because it wasn’t an earthquake,” Dirk apprises suddenly. “Didn’t you guys hear it?”
    
              He doesn’t wait for an answer when he rises a bit, scanning the horizon. John hesitantly follows him up. “I did hear something... Like an explosion?” he tentatively admits.
    
              Your bro stills, seemingly spotting something when he says, “Exactly.” He lifts his arm to point, prompting you and Jane to ascend to their level.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              It’s honestly hard _not_ to spot the chimney of smoke that looms over the other end of the village. You can spot little patches of flames around the base of it, a chill crawling up your spine. Little salamanders dart around in a panic but there’s only one person on your mind.
    
              “You don’t think...” Jane breathes your collective fear. “...Jake?”
    
              Dirk’s already taken off.
    

> [Roxy: Investigate.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/51731848#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck drawing environments. Fukc anyone who enjoys that shit.
> 
> Brought to you by Deunan on her bullshit again.
> 
> Edit: It's been so long since I've read Homestuck that I forgot the Salamanders live in fucking pipes, lmao. At least I got the thatch roof part right. Jesus.


	18. Roxy: Investigate.


              With your new flight powers, it takes no time at all to reach the sight of the explosion. Unfortunately, the area is thick with smoke and you can’t see much upon entering the cloud. You’re all gonna have a hell of a time trying to find Jake in this...
    
              Somewhere to your right, you think you hear John mumble, “Yeah, this isn’t gonna work.”
    
              And without warning, you are blasted by wind. It spirals from John’s direction like a cyclone, nearly knocking you out of the air, but not quite. In seconds, the smoke has dispersed, and the atmosphere is clear. You blink, impressed.
    
              “Well, that’s convenient,” you compliment, drawing a smile from him. You’d gush about it if you weren’t preoccupied worrying over you’re currently missing best friend. You dart your gaze around, and almost immediately spot the crowd of salamanders that have gathered at the center of what you recognize to be a crater left behind from the blast.
    
              You touch down with Jane and John a couple yards away while Dirk nearly barrels over a salamander when he lands at the edge of the group. He wades through them, calling Jake’s name with such panic, you feel your breath hitch as you run to catch up. He crouches, disappearing in the crowd of consorts, undoubtedly reaching for what must be Jake.
    
              “Jake, can you hear me?!” he asks as you approach. You can see them now, Jake cradled in Dirk’s arms, unresponsive. You feel Jane appear next to you and tightly grab your arm, see her other hand cover her mouth apprehensively. You’re not much better off with your heartbeat thrumming in your ears. You’ve forgotten how to breathe.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              “Is... I-Is he...?” you stutter out, throat dry.
    
              Dirk doesn’t look up immediately, and you realize it’s because he’s checking his pulse. It’s far too long before you hear him take a deep, shaky breath.
    
              “He’s alive. And breathing, thank god...” he says finally. His head drops to Jake’s chest, shoulders relaxing. You feel yourself exhale the air that’s been trapped in your lungs since Jane grabbed your arm, feel her grip loosen as she does the same.
    
              “What was that, John?” she asks suddenly. You turn to look at the boy in question while he stands up to his full height, seemingly having finished talking to some of the salamanders. He steps toward the pair of you and hands Jane what you recognize to be Jake’s glasses.
    
              “They said he found something here, a funny looking object that was sitting on what sounds like it was a Transportalizer,” he says, scanning the ground. “They said he grabbed something out of it, then he warned them to run away.” He shuffles over to something on the ground that you didn’t notice before and picks it up. “Looks like this was the only thing to survive the blast.” It looks like a normal old crowbar.
    
              You blink, casting your gaze down toward the salamanders quietly kicking around each other to get a better look at Jake. “You speak salamander?” you can’t help but ask.
    
              He grins. “Apparently. Why? Could you not understand your guys?”
    
              You assume he means the turtle-y corpses buried deep beneath pyramids and neon. “Didn’t have much of an opportunity to find out,” you say. He nods, seeming to take that for what it is. After a brief pause, he adds, “If I remember right, there’s a hut nearby large enough to house us. We should probably move him somewhere indoors until he comes to. C’mon. I’ll take you there.”
    
              Before you take off, you turn back to Dirk. He takes one of Jake’s arms and wraps it around his shoulders before he stands. He doesn’t look to be struggling under the dead weight, but even if he was, you’re positive he wouldn’t let it show. You don’t wait for him to ask for help because you know he’s not going to whether he needs it or not. He looks like he wants to protest when you float around to Jake’s other side and take his arm to wrap over your own shoulders, but he closes his mouth when you give him a look. You don’t say that this is partially for you, so you can feel Jake, warm and still breathing against your side. But you think Dirk understands.
    

> [==>](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/56301247#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol, this motherfucker ded


	19. ==>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Get ready for a fuck ton of feelings jams in the upcoming pages, some remixes of ones you've read in canon.
    
    
              John leads the five of you to a hut that looks like a mini mansion compared to the other ones you’ve seen, and it may be partially because it looks like the salamanders built it for John rather than themselves, considering the doorways you don’t have to army crawl through. You and Dirk settle Jake down on a tiny, uncomfortable looking bed you find inside, but it’s something, you guess. At Dirk’s prompting, Jane gets to work with her new Life powers. Her hands shake as she roves them over Jake’s body, healing him using little more than a vague instinct, and you see the light burns in his skin mend, but he doesn’t wake up.
    
              Your heart sinks, and you’re sure everyone else’s does too.
    
              You talk a little while idling by his bedside, but it’s mostly an eerie silence that looms over the four of you. Dirk’s barely said anything while sitting in the chair next to Jane, closest to Jake, and he keeps tapping beats out with his fingers on his thighs. You and John stand awkwardly by the foot of the bed, since there were only two chairs in the house. You suspect Dirk wants to reach out and hold Jake’s hand where it rests on the wool blanket you’ve tucked him under, but some internal struggle is keeping him from doing so. Eventually, John announces that he’s going to chill for a bit just outside, and Jane offers to join him. Standing up, she lightly draws her hand over Dirk’s shoulder, gives it a small squeeze that he tilts his head toward in acknowledgement, then she shoots you a solemn look before following John out.
    
              You and Dirk are left in the silence.
    
              Much earlier, when the three of you were chatting it up while Jake got to know John, Jane practically acted as the verbal bridge between you. Dirk said a few things to you, but you couldn’t look him in the eye when you replied. He quickly realized he was making you uncomfortable, so whatever was on his mind, he directed at Jane instead. You felt bad for it then, and you feel bad for it now, because you fear that’s part of why he’s not breaking the silence. You expected him to talk more, to hammer on about this and that to get everyone’s minds off the elephant laying unconscious in the middle of the room, including his own. _Especially_ his own. It’s easy to envision the gears in his head, rotating too rapidly, discs spinning too hot, trying to calculate what to do now, distracted by calculating what he should’ve done to avoid this. You see it all and want to slap yourself. Because more than anything, right now you see he needs someone.
    
              Swallow your pride, Lalonde.
    
              You hover over to the chair Jane left vacated. You wonder if he even notices you take it. You awkwardly sit there for a good minute before closing your eyes, clenching your fists atop your thighs, and leaning into him with a dull ‘thump’.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              Dirk jumps, startled by your presence or your touch. You’re betting it’s both. He’s probably giving you a wary side-eye, but you wouldn’t know because your cheek is too busy being smushed into his shoulder. His muscles are firm, but you wouldn’t call them bulky. He’s currently broader than Jake, but it doesn’t seem like he will be for long. Dirk is lithe to begin with, and Jake, ever the late bloomer, is now quickly coming into his own, his body finally beginning to fill out the way it was meant to over the last six months running around with his ex-boyfriend. He’s not so much the scrappy little island boy you met when you entered the session.
    
              God, you hope he’s going to be okay.
    
              “You’re uncomfortable,” you complain softly. At first, Dirk doesn’t react.
    
              Then he sighs.
    
              “Sorry.”
    
              You frown. That won’t do.
    
              You sit back to look at him, but he doesn’t meet your gaze. In fact, it looks like he’s avoiding it.
    
              That won’t do at all.
    
              He starts a second time when your hand slides across his back. You hook it in the crook where his neck meets his shoulder while your other hand slips around his side from the front. You pull.
    
              “Roxy, what—?”
    
              “Shh,” you shush, gently guiding him over. He doesn’t resist much, either too tired or too perplexed, and soon you have him leaning against you, your cheek pressed against his hair instead with arms wrapped around his shoulders. Much softer. You love how he feels against you: firm, solid, warm. You’ve longed to hold him like this for years. Then you feel a little disgusted with yourself for taking advantage of him while he’s vulnerable.
    
              “’m sorry,” you apologize.
    
              He pauses, then he snorts. “What on earth could you possibly be apologizing for? Roxy, out of the four of us, you’re probably the least culpable for everything that’s happened.” He shifts like he wants to pull away, but you don’t let him, so instead he rambles. “So what? You’re sorry for trying to keep everyone together? Sorry for being the only one of us with the sense to keep your head wholly outside of your rectum instead of the alternative? Sorry for being a decent human being, facing your issues, and actually doing something about them? What makes you think for one second that—”
    
              “Dirk,” you say, and he immediately quiets, tense.
    
              You’re actually not sure how to follow up, because you’re sorry for plenty of things. But where would you start? You settle for opening your mouth and rolling with whichever one falls out first.
    
              “I’m sorry about you and Jake.”
    
              Oh man. That’s... That’s a heavy hitter. One you’re not sure that Dirk’s ready for. You guess you still aren’t fully ready to talk about yourself yet.
    
              He tenses up so much more at that, you think you might’ve messed up. You know it’s a particularly sore subject, probably far too soon to try and comfort him over. He’s not pulling away though, so maybe you didn’t mess up.
    
              “He...” He hesitates, sounding like it’s taking everything in him just to get the words out. “It was my fault,” he says finally. “Everything I said... The way I broke up with him. It was completely unfair. I was already compromised, and I didn’t think—”
    
              “Compromised, huh? Like a Vulcan?” you tease.
    
              He doesn’t laugh, but he finally relaxes in your arms. That’s a win.
    
              “Nerd,” he says.
    
              “Vulcan is better than a robot, which you’re not by the way. I feel like I have to remind you sometimes.”
    
              He sighs again. “Sometimes I feel like I have to be reminded.”
    
              “Do you also need me to assure you that it’s not _all_ your fault? I’m sure Jake could’ve done plenty different on his end,” you add.
    
              “Sure, he could’ve. But I’m not exactly approachable, am I?” he counters.
    
              And... well, alright. He’s got you there. Confronting Dirk Strider without being properly prepared is like trying to get through a max security safe with nothing but a lock pick—a multi-layered vault that zaps you or sprays you with tear gas if you get the combination wrong. Knowing Jake, he probably brought a pair of pistols and hoped they’d be enough. He probably aimed, squeezed the triggers, and watched the bullets ricochet until the clips were empty, then wondered why the door hadn’t swung open to let him claim the riches.
    
              Knowing Jake, he’d sooner walk away than try and bother figuring it out.
    
              Dirk can tell by your silence that he has a point, so he continues, “But even if he didn’t say it outright, it was clear he needed space. And I just kept pushing him, controlling everything we did, brushing off anything he suggested. I treated him like... Like...”
    
              “Like a chess piece?” you offer.
    
              “...sure. Like a chess piece.”
    
              You nod against his hair. “You are known to do that kind of shit. Poor Jakey never stood a chance. All naïve and simple and shit.”
    
              Dirk’s quiet for a little bit.
    
              “He’s not an idiot, you know.”
    
              “Hm?”
    
              He actually does pull away this time, and you let him, mostly because you’re confused by what he said. He fixes you with a blank look, and you realize what he thinks you may’ve been implying. You fumble over your words, shaking your head. “Oh, no. I didn’t mean... I don’t think that at all! Jake’s just...”
    
              “It’s fine. I didn’t think you did,” he interrupts with a small smile. You might’ve imagined it though, because it’s already gone when he turns away.
    
              “Jake is... complicated.”
    
              Well. You’ve definitely never related _that_ name to _that_ word.
    
              “I’m not too keen on getting into it right now, for obvious reasons,” he admits, gazing at the subject of your conversation. “But I’ve learned so many things about him that I never even considered to be possibilities given what I thought I knew. And it makes me feel guilty for giving him so little credit.”
    
              Your eyebrows shoot up. “Are you about to reveal that Jake English is a closet genius? Because that’s totally the direction you sound like you’re taking this conversation, and I gotta say, I don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of twist in my life right now.”
    
              Dirk laughs, low and sweet. You haven’t had the opportunity to hear it too often, so you savor it.
    
              “No, not quite.” He leans back in his chair, crosses his arms. “The truth is I don’t know enough. Because even after everything, spending all that time with him, I still don’t think I have the whole picture.”
    
              You pause, absorbing everything he’s said so far and finding that you’re not sure you want to believe it. It’s scary to look at one of your closest friends and be told you might not understand them at all. With a breath, you make a show of mimicking Dirk’s movements, arms crossed tight over your chest.
    
              “Well that sounds annoying,” you grumble, feigning seriousness. Dirk seems to notice because he nods in agreement. “Oh, you have no idea.”
    
              It’s quiet again, but it’s a comfortable quiet this time. It lasts for a while, and you’re grateful for it. Then Dirk breaks it again with your name.
    
              “Roxy?”
    
              “Hm?”
    
              “...I’m proud of you.”
    
              You jolt, feel the air catch in your throat.
    
              “I just... I wanted you to know that. Jane mentioned that you were afraid I was disappointed in you back when we were losing our fucking minds, but that really couldn’t have been farther from the truth. And I kind of said this all to her already, but you’re the one that needs to hear it, so for both our sakes, I’m gonna suck it up and tell you that I know I’m absolute shit at expressing how I feel about you guys where it counts, but you are... you really are the best of us.” He turns his head to face you again, expression as unreadable as ever, but his tone says it all. “Everything I was saying before? About not knowing what the hell you could be apologizing for? I meant it. Every word. You did your damnedest to keep us together while we were doing everything we could to fall apart. I talked a big game before the session, about how I knew Jane was meant to be our leader and that I was meant to pull the strings, so when I realized how wrong I was, I was embarrassed.”
    
              You can just barely see his eyes through his shades while you’re sitting this close. He blinks once, then drops his gaze to the floor as he says, “I thought I could steer us with one hand on the wheel and the other navigating the map, but instead I holed myself up below deck until the storm hit, and then I jumped ship like it was every man for himself. And the one who secured the sails, grabbed the wheel, and tossed out the lifebuoys was none other than you.”
    
              He pauses.
    
              “Alright, please ignore that lame as hell metaphor. It’s kind of hard to turn it off even when I’m trying to be serious, but you deserve to hear it straight.” He takes a deep breath. “If it weren’t for you, we’d be in pieces; that’s a fact. You herd our asses all over the place without complaint, constantly picking us up because we can barely move two steps without falling the fuck down. And when you fall yourself, no one returns the favor. You just grin and bear it, stand back up and dust off like it’s fine, but you shouldn’t have to. You should _never_ have to. Yet you do it because you love us despite how dysfunctional we all are, despite being the one that never wanted to play this fucking game in the first place. And after being forced into it, you ended up being the only one that gave enough of a shit to pay attention to what was happening in the session. To be able to do all the things you do, I don’t think you realize how admirable it all is, and that’s probably our fault too because I feel like none of us ever tell you. In fewer words, I guess I’m just trying to say that you deserve so much better than this.”
    
              Dirk regards you again and really looks at you this time. He stares so long that you feel exposed, breathless, because he views you like you’re so much more than you are. Like you’re everything. And it _hurts_, because despite all the weight of the emotions dancing behind those shades, he’s still not looking at you the way you desperately want him to.
    
              Because you’ve seen _that_ look before. You know what it looks like on his face, and it’s not meant for you.
    
              “You deserve the world, Roxy. And more than anything, I wish... I could be the one to give it to you,” he confesses softly, but the blade pierces all the same. You feel the honesty in his words drive through your heart.
    
              It twists.
    
              It breaks.
    
              A wetness builds up in your eyes and you hate yourself because the last thing you want to do is cry in front of the man who’s been one of the biggest focal points of your inner turmoil for the past five years, the man who’s aware of it and probably hates himself for what he has no control over. And the worst part is that you don’t know if you will ever stop loving him the way you suspect you do. It’s definitely not the best hand you could’ve been dealt, but you honestly don’t think that you’d trade it for anything different if given the choice. Between the cards in your hands and the shards of your heart, you wonder if you’re a masochist.
    
              You breathe deep, unable to keep the air from trembling on its way out.
    
              “I love you, Dirk,” you profess, and you know it’s dangerous given what’s been shared, but you can’t help it. It feels so good to say out loud, to feel the words fall past your lips because you don’t know if saying them to anyone else will ever come out truer. Your heart is in pieces but you think it can heal, because you still love and you love hard, and the one responsible for all this pain is pulling you into his arms so you can cling to his ridiculous Prince pajamas and try not to cry.
    
              “I love you too, Roxy. More than you know.”
    
              You cry anyway, silent and stifled. You hope Dirk can’t tell even though you’re sure he’s noticed despite your best efforts. You take heavy, shaky breaths to calm down, and just when you think you’re ready to pull away, you break and cry some more. But no matter how long you cling to him, Dirk never lets you go.
    

> [Jane: Observe.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/56646793#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want them all to talk out their angstyness so the density of it doesn't fuck them all over like it does in the Epilogues, lmao.
> 
> Also I didn't like how I was drawing Dirk's hood so I fixed it, eheheheh.


	20. Jane: Observe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gettin' too ambitious with these panels, lmao. This art style was supposed to be simple, quick, and somewhat shitty. Why can't I stay fuckin' consistent.
    
    
              You have so many questions right now.
    
              Most of them have to do with the hearty little party fumbling around each other in a little clearing of the village some huts away. You, Dirk, and Roxy stand by and watch a muffled shouting match, a muscly troll sprite that may be harassing another troll sprite, Dirk and Roxy’s ectobiological parents struggling and arguing over how to appropriately carry who you’ve come to learn is your own ectobiological sleeping mom, and what might be a carapacian hobo dancing with a group of excited consorts. There are two more trolls idly dragging what looks to be a fridge behind them. They seem like a disaster of rejects, and you would readily think they were if the three of you weren’t aware who the real disaster of rejects is. Regardless, you and Roxy exchange blank glances while Dirk tiredly runs a hand down his face.
    
              Just a minute ago, you were enjoying each other’s company, standing around and chatting outside the hut that housed a comatose Jake. John had zapped away at some point, but not after you bonded over a nice, long conversation about the craziness of this funny fickle game experience. He told you there was a friend he had to go see, but he’d be back before the boss fight. Then he gave you a nice warm hug and poof! Or you mean, uh, zap! He was gone, just like that. You would’ve gone back inside to rejoin your friends, but you thought better of it after overhearing what you inferred was a reconciliation between Dirk and Roxy. It hadn’t taken them long to pop out and join you anyway. Then it was you that shushed everyone because you picked up on the voices in the distance. That brought you to now.
    
              “Should we, uh...” Roxy speaks up first. She rocks on the balls of her feet and squints over at Dirk, who’s seemingly still facepalming. “Should we go over there and say hi or something?” she asks, probably to have it out there.
    
              “These are the people we’ve been waiting for, aren’t they?” you toss in, bending at the waist so you can also direct your query past Roxy to the de facto leader of this team.
    
              Dirk takes a deep breath. It’s a few more seconds before he responds, “Yeah, that seems to be the case.”
    
              “Something wrong?” you ask, a bit worried by his current demeanor. There’s some hesitation, but then he shakes his head. “Nah, not really. We makin’ this shit happen or what?”
    
              Despite his claim, you think his guard is back up. You wonder if it has something to do with meeting the teen version of his brother or something else. Roxy reaches out and gives his arm a supportive pat.
    
              “You two should go ahead,” she prompts, to your surprise. “Figure out what the sitch is. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on our boy.”
    
              Neither of you have an argument aside from the fact that you’re worn-out and not really looking forward to meeting so many people all at once, but you don’t voice that because Roxy deserves a break more than you do. So with a quick nod, you begin the trek over. As you draw closer, the shouting steadily grows more coherent. It seems most of it is coming from a troll with teeny horns that remind you of candy corn, but the girl he’s yelling at is giving him a run for his money. Just before you pass the last hut, you start to actually listen to what they’re bickering about.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              “—rned the ability to summon the divine visage of Troll Will Smith and he emerged in all his cumulus wonder over our little writhing flotsam mob to tell us it’s high fuckin’ time we parked our asses on the triumph plate, but you haven’t! So, _I’m_ telling _you_ John wouldn’t have told us to land here for no reason!”
    
              “Well, obviously _not_! That’s exactly why I’m suspicious! The players of this session could’ve met us on the Victory Platform just as well, so why are we _here_?!”
    
              “How the fuck should I know!?”
    
              “Wow, alright. Look Karkat, if you wanna—”
    
              “If I might interject,” another troll speaks up with a cough. When the first two shut up and look at her, she points at the two of you. “It appears the Nobles of this session have already arrived to join us.”
    
              Suddenly, all eyes are on you and Dirk, and it’s only a smidge bit uncomfortable. But you’ve never been the particularly shy sort when it comes to meeting new people, so you don’t stay quiet for long.
    
              “Hi, everyone!” you greet enthusiastically. Dirk, ever the cool dude, doesn’t even wave like you do when he gives a stilted, “Sup.”
    
              “Aren’t there supposed to be four of you?” the troll girl asks without missing a beat. Dirk nods. “Two of us are chilling in a hut back the way we came. You’re not the only ones with someone who’s been knocked the fuck out.”
    
              “How did you all get here?” you pipe up. It’s probably not relevant to your current situation to find out, but your curiosity’s always been an insatiable little monster.
    
              The one called Karkat replies in a tone much louder than necessary, “We rode in on a meteor we used to escape from the spliced up First Guardian Jack Noir created in your Pre-Scratch session. How’d you get here?”
    
              Mhmm. Yes. Okay. That explanation makes total sense to you.
    
              “Your guy John beamed us over,” Dirk answers on behalf of both of you.
    
              The troll girl rolls her eyes. “Yeah. Felt like that was pretty obvious, Karkat. Or did you really forget what we were literally just arguing about?”
    
              “I’m just trying to fucking make conversation, okay? Is that okay with you, Vriska? Does that please the obtusely assembled court where you sit to stroke your vivaciously inflated ego? You know, I think it needs to be said that the rest of us don’t share your unhealthy addiction to breeding the horrendously iniquitous affiliations that stuff your extortion purse. In fact, we just might be interested in making connections that don’t run the risk of screwing us between our seat cheeks due to a critical case of sociopath!” Karkat snaps back vehemently, and _shucks_. Is this normal? You feel like there should be a sudden spike in tension here after that, but nobody really reacts.
    
              “A slave to your Blood aspect as always, but I appreciate you acknowledging my ability to make rational decisions without being tied down by relationships. Some people just need to be the ones to make the hard choices that others can’t handle, so I take pride in being one of those people,” she punts back easily enough. Judging by her tone, you would’ve thought Karkat had been praising her. Either way, that’s clearly the way she took it.
    
              You may’ve spoken too soon when you dubbed your little entourage the disaster earlier.
    
              The shouty troll looks ready to shoot something back, but the one that first pointed out your arrival earlier reaches out to lightly pap his cheek. He seems to rethink whatever counter he was going to give.
    
              “Yo.”
    
              Your attention switches to the boy that’s obviously related to Dirk. If you remember right, his name is Dave? You noticed him muttering stuff to Roxy’s teenage mom during all that. Both of them support a sleeping Jade with her arms hooked over their shoulders. Looks like she's no longer possessed, you notice with some relief.
    
              “Can we, uhhhhh, take this somewhere there’s a bed or something? Not trying to be a wet blanket here, but Jade’s heavier than she looks and after hauling her around for a solid thirty minutes, I’m really starting to feel the burn.” He pauses a moment to face his... sister? You guess? All that ecto stuff Dirk and Roxy tried to explain to you in the past year makes your head hurt. “Rose, you and I are gonna have some killer traps after this. I’m down for getting buff and all, but I wanna do it on my own terms, y’know? Back me up here.”
    
              Rose huffs, gives a nod of concession. “It has been a bit taxing...”
    
              Vriska spouts something that sounds like a whine, but you’ve stopped listening. With a glance at Dirk, you whisper, “Was there another bed in that hut? It seemed awfully small.”
    
              He shrugs. “I think there was another room? But I didn’t poke my head in to see what was in it or anything. Gonna go ahead and doubt that there’s another bed though.” Without a second wasted, he speaks up to address the group before you, “Can’t say we got a spare bed, but we can take you back to the place we’re staying at so we can start hashing things out.”
    
              Dave gives a curt nod, which you see Dirk kind of raise his eyebrow at, but then the pair of you spin on your heels to lead the way, listening to make sure the rest are trailing behind. There’s a bunch of mutterings among them, most of which you fail to pick up on. So instead, you entwine your hands behind your back and lean close to Dirk when you query, “So that’s your brother? Dave, right?”
    
              “Seems so.”
    
              You hum, “I don’t see the resemblance.”
    
              Dirk makes a sound caught between what might be a chuckle and a cough. You grin, glad to crack that stoic façade for once. He covers his mouth with a curled fist as you go on to remark, “His shades aren’t _nearly_ triangular enough.”
    
              Quick to recover, he mutters, “Well, the farther that apple fell from this bent as hell tree, all the better for it.”
    
              “Are you making a reference to how messed up you think you are, or are you just trying to say that you’re incredibly homosexual?” you quip mischievously. You’re not about to let your friend shit on himself anymore, at least not easily. Nu-uh! Not on your watch!
    
              This manages to get a smirk out of him when he replies with a solid, “Yes.” which draws a spirited “Hoo hoo hoo!” out of you.
    
              You arrive at the hut without even realizing it. Dirk gestures at the tiny thing with a crisp, not at all ironic, “Home sweet home.” When they all eye him like he must be joking, he says, “Look around you. Were you expecting a master suite?”
    
              As if that was their cue, the salamanders that were following the carapace around scatter in all different directions, startling you. Then you notice Dave and Rose take the initiative to enter the hut so they can at least set Jade down somewhere. From where you’re standing outside the doorway with Dirk, you see maybe about three of the trolls and one of the sprites open their mouths to say something, but they’re all interrupted by the high-pitched screech that sounds from inside, followed by an alarming crash. Undoubtedly Roxy. You can hear her gush with a robust string of “Oh my gosh! Oh shit! Holy fuck!” even from out here. Then there’s grunting. Then there’s stomping. And then suddenly, there’s Roxy, dragging those poor kids by the arm with her back over the threshold. She presents them to you and Dirk with the biggest dumb grin you’ve ever seen her make and your heart absolutely melts at how happy she is.
    
              “Dirk! Janey! Look! Look at them! Oh my gosh! Ahhhh!” She has her arms hooked in theirs as she jumps up and down between them. You feel a bit bad that they’re being harassed like this by someone so excitable, but they don’t seem too put off by it, just a little startled.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              Besides, her excitement is contagious. “I know!!” you can’t help but squeal with her.
    
              Roxy unhooks her arm from Dave’s so she can use it to unapologetically smush hers and Rose’s faces together. “Look at this beautiful woman! This is my mother, god damn it!! Also, my daughter apparently! Is it weird? A little! But it doesn’t matter because she’s _gorgeous_! I’m gonna fuckin’ cry. Dirk, look at her!”
    
              “I’m lookin’, Roxy.”
    
              “Are you seeing this!?”
    
              “I’m seein’ this.”
    
              Seemingly satisfied with Dirk’s responses, Roxy quickly switches to grabbing Dave by the shoulders and smushing their faces together in much the same way. Unlike Rose, who was at least smiling while her personal space was invaded, Dave’s Strider façade breaks entirely, and you suspect his soul might be just about ready to abscond from its fleshy vessel. Your sympathy grows because his former paleness quickly begins to match his god tier pajamas as his ectobiological mom shamelessly nuzzles him.
    
              “And this one? Look at him! _Look at him_!” Her demands are bordering on aggressive now. There’s no stopping her.
    
              She spins Dave so they’re facing each other. You give him props for being manhandled like this and taking it in stride (mostly).
    
              “Look at you!”
    
              “Yeah?” he answers faintly.
    
              “You’re fuckin' adorbs!!” she cries.
    
              Is that a little smile you spot forming on his mouth?
    
              “You’re damn right. Thanks, mom.”
    
              Her resulting squeal hurts your ears, but you can’t be mad.
    
              “Uh, not to break up this, uh...” Vriska blinks, curling her lip. “Whatever this is right now, but we do have actual important stuff we need to catch you up on, so can you... turn her off or something?”
    
              You can already tell this one’s gonna be a piece of work.
    
              Nevertheless, Roxy perks up at the disruption, looking apologetic. “Oh! Sorry, my b. I’m just,” She sighs contentedly. “Not every day I get to see my fam all in one place, ya feel?”
    
              “Right...” Vriska replies slowly. “So let’s talk about this living situation because this?” She gestures at the hut. “This isn’t going to work.”
    
              “This coming from the one who wanted to sit on an empty floating disc in the middle of the Void,” the third female troll speaks up beside her for the very first time, grinning with large pointed teeth. Vriska elbows her playfully. “At least we’re actually _supposed_ to be there!” she defends.
    
              Nearer you, Dave shoots a questionable look past Roxy to Rose. “Isn’t John’s ridiculously tall house around here somewhere?”
    
              The latter shrugs. “Supposedly. But seeing as none of us have taken notice of it since entering the atmosphere, we can assume it’s not located in the immediate vicinity. Moreover, I would advise against taking residency there. Rather than a vantage point, its position was rather precarious last I saw, not to mention inconvenient for those of us that can’t fly.”
    
              “Bummer.”
    
              Past them, Karkat turns to Vriska and asks, “What about the meteor?”
    
              “What about it?”
    
              “Can’t we just...” He makes a popping noise with his lips and a gesture that seems like he’s enlarging something between his hands.
    
              “Oh yeah. Let me just park it right here,” she drawls. She then proceeds to say nothing else and make no motion to do anything. Karkat stares blankly at her and she blankly stares back, and you conclude that’s about as much as anyone’s going to get out of that exchange.
    
              “Wait, hold up, hold up,” Dave draws everyone’s attention again as he disentangles himself from Roxy’s arm. “We can build shit,” he states, shooting Rose another look. “We literally have the technology.” Then what looks like a laptop pops into existence in front of him.
    
              Oh shit. You honestly forgot you can build stuff because this is a game with like a building HUD and everything.
    
              “Very astute, Dave,” Rose compliments, impressed.
    
              “Dude, that’s genius!” Karkat praises similarly.
    
              Still linked with her daughter by the arm, Roxy gives another happy sigh. “We raised such good kids, Dirk. They’re so smart.”
    
              “Roxy, we didn’t raise shit,” comes the blunt reply.
    
              “Hush, Buzz Killington. Lemme dream, a’ight?”
    
              Off to the right, you hear Dave again. More than anything, he just seems to be musing to himself, but he’s not exactly being subtle about it as he hunkers down and clicks about on his computer. There’s a bit of a rock to his head as he says, “Look, I’mma hook us up, cuz I’m rich. As. Fuck. I got grist pouring out this ass. I let it sit; I made it last. Didn’t even take a class and still I’m makin’ all this cash. And now I’m buildin’ us some shit, get it lit, make it certain. Get a celebrant in here. It’s time to pick us out some curtains.”
    
              Oh. He’s rapping apparently.
    
              And he carries on doing so even as Karkat walks up to sit next to him and watch him work. You begin to feel mild tremors in the ground behind you while Dave pauses his rapping so he and his troll friend can discuss where best to place walls. Not long later, the carapace joins them, seemingly to their shared glee. The three of them must be good friends.
    
              Your attention is stolen yet again by Roxy when she suddenly chimes, “Ooh, did you guys hear that?”
    
              You most certainly did not because you were distracted, but it’s not like she waits for an answer when she croons, “Rose wants to introduce me to her giiiiirlfriend.” She turns back to her ecto-daughter as she’s dragged away, chanting something like, “Go ahead, girl. Lead me to your future wife!” But then Rose stops, mumbling something like “We have to stay near the hut so Dave can build it,” and instead, she waves over the troll that placated Karkat earlier. She comes up to join them and together, they pass you to talk inside the hut instead.
    
              Unexpectedly, Vriska and her friend step up to where the two girls were standing at your front a moment ago. The troll girl you don’t yet have a name for breaks off to hover over the boys on the ground, but Vriska keeps her focus on you, coming to a stop a couple feet away. “So who’s your fourth player?” she prods.
    
              “Who, Jake?” you respond, throwing a glance over your shoulder to the door behind you. “He’s—”
    
              “Oh wait, I think I remember. That guy’s the Page, isn’t he?” the troll interrupts, somewhat derisively. How she already knows that is beyond you, but either way, you certainly don’t like her tone. She places a hand on her hip and makes a dismissive gesture with her other one. “Okay, nevermind. His inclusion in the endgame stratagem won’t be necessary in that case.”
    
              Dirk furrows an eyebrow, voice clipped when he urges, “Meaning...?”
    
              “Meaning he’s more likely to be a burden than an asset. It’s probably for the best that he just stays out of the way when the big bosses converge,” she explains, and it legitimately throws you off how sincere she sounds, like she’s not intending to be mean, but rather, she’s only listing the facts of the situation. In any other case, you might’ve been intrigued by this show of objectivity, but right now, you can’t excuse her for the obvious dismissal of one of your best friends.
    
              “Sorry,” you start, because you’re polite and you have manners, damn it! Keep a leash on that temper of yours, Crocker. “But I feel like you are severely underestimating the capacity of contribution Jake is capable of.”
    
              She scoffs and you feel something inside crack. “Look, I can admire that you’re defending him. Obviously, I don’t know the guy. He could be hiding a few talents away in the pants legs he doesn’t wear, but in a fight like the ones that are coming up? Trust me. Anything he has to offer is going to prove to be just... stunningly inconsequential. I should know. I’ve been there before.” In a brief pause, Vriska twists at the waist and directs your gaze at one of the two sprites that arrived with their party—the one that sports rather large bullhorns.
    
              Huh. Now that you’re actually looking, the other sprite’s shades look suspiciously like Dirk’s...
    
              “You see that blue sprite over there? That’s Tavros, Page of Breath. During our session, I tried over and over to help him unleash all that “hidden potential” he’s supposed to have jampacked in his bosom or whatever. I pushed him to the limits, I tried to get him to step up, but any time the chips were down, he failed to deliver again and again and again. He was a dud. All that hype about potential is a load of bullshit. I wasted so much time trying to nurture the makings of greatness in him, only to get none of the payoff, because Page are always going to be inherently unimportant in the grand scheme of the game,” Vriska goes on to explain, but it’s getting difficult to keep listening. There’s a hot blue fuzz trickling in your head and you get the feeling you won’t be able to repress it while she keeps talking. You watch her shrug with vision that’s losing focus. “So I’m sorry for your friend, I really am. He’s stuck in a class that’s destined to not amount to anything. I mean, he can _try_ to help if he really wants to, but I’d advise against it since he’ll only end up detrimental to himself and everyone else. The sad truth is that the game is just fucking with him because it knows the type of person he is.”
    
              “And what kind of person is that?” Dirk’s voice is startlingly even. You’d almost forgotten he was standing next to you while you were stewing in fury.
    
              You wonder if this girl is just fearless or witless because she expresses no reservation when she simply states, “A loser.”
    
              You’re shocked by how fast you move when Dirk jerks forward. You have no idea what he intended to do before you grab his arm, but you’re glad your touch seems to pacify him to some extent, since he could’ve easily ripped out of your grip if he wanted to. To her credit, Vriska doesn’t recoil at the obvious threat. In fact, she seems more taken aback than anything, but her complete indifference to being towered over by someone as intimidating as Dirk sparks a mixture of respect and aggravation in you.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              You close your eyes and give her one of your most saccharine smiles.
    
              “Well, we’ll have to keep that in mind then, won’t we?” you declare deliberately. Dirk’s bicep twitches under your fingers and you know you won’t be able to hold him back for long if the three of you remain in the same proximity. When you open your eyes to meet hers again, they stay narrowed.
    
              “We appreciate the insight, but if I were you, I wouldn’t be so quick to condemn someone I’ve never met,” you utter, low and with warning.
    
              You and Vriska stare each other down for what feels like too long until she tilts her head back to look down her nose at you. Then she steps away with a low hum, “Guess you need time to absorb all that,” before spinning on her heel and proudly striding away. She calls to her friend, “Yo, Terezi. You still have that jetpack?”
    
              Your gaze lingers after her until it catches on Dave. He’s staring in your direction, but you sense his eyes are on Dirk. Then Karkat jostles him and he turns right back to his computer. The other troll girl, Terezi apparently, straightens up to join Vriska as she puts more distance between you. It isn’t until they’re well away and almost out of sight that you feel Dirk begin to relax. It’s even longer before you feel comfortable enough to let go, for more your sake than his. You’re so angry, you’re trembling.
    
              “Wow. It’s a miracle how she stays grounded with that huge ass ego inflating her dome piece,” Dirk mutters incredulously. “Admirable really. She makes me feel fuckin’ modest.”
    
              If you were a calmer person, you would’ve said something like “She’s a real _winner_, isn’t she?” but you’re afraid that if you say anything at all, sarcastic or not, you might just start screaming. Rather, you decide the safer option is to take deep breaths. You suddenly wish you’d listened to your dad when he suggested you take up yoga to decompress—since you tend to be so tightly wound, there’s a danger you might spring off into the atmosphere, he’d said. The memory makes you wanna laugh about as much as it now makes you sad, knowing you have no idea whether he’s okay or not while you’re over here messing around with trolls and salamanders. God, there goes the good mood you already didn’t have. You’ve refused to acknowledge it, but you’re so stressed out, you think you might cry.
    
              “Thanks, by the way.”
    
              Dirk turns to you as he says it, then he frowns, lightly places his hand on your shoulder. “You good?”
    
              You eye him, look away, sigh. “No, not really,” you answer honestly, to your own surprise. You feel the strain from the last half year rapidly catching up to you and it puts an uncomfortable pressure in your head. You’re angry and a little miserable and think you have been for a while.
    
              “It has nothing to do with her. Or okay, maybe it does a little bit. God, how can someone be so...” You legitimately cannot find a word to describe her that would do justice, so you settle for, “Ugh!”
    
              Your hands are clenching and unclenching into fists in front of you and you hadn’t even realized you raised them. “I don’t understand when we all started being judged as fighters rather than people! Where does this game get off deciding what we are and what value we have? This is all so stupid!”
    
              You hesitate, run a hand down your face in a fruitless attempt to calm down. Poor Dirk didn’t ask for you to unload this emotional instability on him but you’re rolling now. “So maybe this is gonna sound like it’s coming out of nowhere and I’m sorry because this isn’t the time or place to bring this up... But I just... I thought when we started playing this together, that it would be fun. That it would be _harmless_. I just wanted to play a dumb game with my best friends and not have to worry about anything. God, what a farce. I don’t think I’ve ever been more stressed out, and never for anywhere near this long.” So many words start spilling out and you didn’t intend to say any of them. You should stop. You can feel yourself tear up, but luckily, it’s not enough for you to start crying. That’d be humiliating. “My dad’s still missing, Jake’s not waking up, we’re about to risk our lives fighting forces that are supposed to be unbeatable and I’m so...!”
    
              Inhale, exhale. You’re too shaky, but you meet his gaze.
    
              “I’m tired, okay? And maybe I’ve got some nerve saying so considering I did fuck-all this entire session, but I don’t care! I’m tired and I’m grumpy and I just wanna see my dad so he can hug me and tell me it’s gonna be okay like he used to do!” You’re shouting, and you probably have been for a while. There’s no way everyone didn’t hear your mild breakdown. But like you said, you really can’t find it in yourself to care about any of that. You shut your eyes and do your best to keep breathing, keep it steady. You’d thought that you got a lot of it out when you yelled at Jake before, but that was all Jake-related nonsense and none of what you said had come anywhere close to covering how all of this just plain sucks. You guess that vile troll girl was the last straw.
    
              Arms come around you and you jolt. Dirk cocoons you in his embrace, setting his chin on the crown of your head exactly like your father always did and you’re about ready to take back what you thought earlier about not needing to cry.
    
              “It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs, and you wanna laugh at how uncertain he sounds. He’s hesitant to lie to you, even when it comes to this, but that’s just Dirk: objective, realistic, rational. But he’s trying. He’s doing his best and you appreciate it.
    
              You bring your arms to hug him back, unable to hold off the silly smile that takes over your face at his effort. You turn your head so you can bury it in his chest instead.
    
              “Thanks, Dirk.” Predictably, that comes out muffled, so you wonder if he hears it until he answers, “Don’t mention it. Sorry I’m shit at this.”
    
              “At what?”
    
              “I don’t know. This. Hugging. Comforting people.” He shrugs. “Just people in general.”
    
              You giggle softly, face still buried. “You’re doing fine.” A brief pause. “Sorry to have a cow. It was totally uncalled for.”
    
              “No sorry necessary. Sometimes you gotta let your cattle wander free to make them appreciate the luxury of captivity.”
    
              “Mhm. Got any more nonsensical farm animal metaphors in you?”
    
              “Yes, but only the first one’s free.”
    
              You’re only standing together like that for a few more seconds when you feel another pair of arms wrap around the two of you, prompting you to unsquash your face and look around at the perpetrator questioningly.
    
              It’s... the carapace. He’s got his arms flush around you and Dirk and he’s so short that his head rests on the crook of Dirk’s arm and you have no idea what to make of this situation. Over his head, you see Dave and Karkat’s intense stares and oh jeez, you just had a mini breakdown in front of them because in a lapse of judgment, you forgot they were there.
    
              Good goin’, Jane, you overemotional moron.
    
              You blush furiously, suddenly embarrassed by everything that transpired. You only wish you could see the expression on Dirk’s face right now, though you guess it to be just irritatingly collected.
    
              To your horror, Dave opens his mouth to reassure you, “Don’t worry, John’s hot mom. The Mayor’s gotchu now, and once he has you, he never lets go. His hugs are like psychographically designed to make people feel better.”
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              He throws you a thumbs up but you’re too preoccupied with being called a “hot mom” to process anything properly. Karkat’s eyes shift to Dave to give him a weird look, and above you, you think you hear Dirk critically say, “Dude...”
    
              “What.”
    
              “Hugfest!!!”
    
              Who you can only assume to be Roxy barrels into the three of you from behind without warning, launching over the threshold of the hut and effectively knocking everyone over with her momentum. You’re not surprised she overheard your outburst and came running to comfort you.
    
              God, your friends really are the best.
    

> [Dirk: Mingle with expanded party.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/57359884#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! More feels jams and there are yet more on the way. Turn back now.
> 
> Also, I hope there are people who appreciate how much I call myself out on the broken logic in this fic as much as I do.


	21. Dirk: Mingle with expanded party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Went back and fixed the artwork in the previous chapter. Realized I wasn't staying true to my own headcanons regarding a couple physiques and have now since fixed those egregious errors, along with a couple other mistakes I happened to notice.
    
    
              Uh. Sure.
    
              After Roxy, Dave, and the Mayor collectively ruined the moment you were having with Jane, Roxy proposed that she and that same Jane try to find John’s house so they could use the Phernalia Rose had placed there to bring back a bunch of furniture for “the new house”, as Roxy had so affectionately called it. None of you had a good enough idea of how long you’d be waiting for the “big bosses”, so you didn’t argue when they set off to aimlessly search for it, though Rose had provided the helpful hint of it being located on a ludicrously tall cliff splinter. It’s not like Vriska and her troll friend were around to stop them anyway.
    
              Dave, Karkat, and the Mayor generally kept to themselves around Dave’s computer, building off the hut and fighting over the controls so that the structure was now much larger than you deemed necessary (though you guess you did technically have fourteen residents if you included John). Salamanders gathered around to watch the construction in awe, some entering to explore the thing themselves. It was now three full stories tall, and speckled with rounded outcropped rooms, twelve-paned windows, two spires, and three balconies. It was an abomination of troll, human, and carapacian architecture and gave one the sense that it was haphazardly duct-taped together at the seams, like something you’d see if Tim Burton experimented with LSD, not to insinuate you think he hasn’t. You predict roughly forty percent of the rooms will go unused.
    
              You spend most of that idle time dodging the ARquiusprite while exploring this new monstrosity of a temporary dwelling. You don’t actually know if he wants to talk to you, but it’s an interaction you really want nothing to do with right now. You wonder if Vriska had sensed your misery that day she appeared to coax you to prototype the AR, if she had gleefully instigated it just so it would make you even more miserable. She seems the type to do shit like that just to fuck with people. Then you wonder how the hell she even appeared on LOTAK at all. Wasn’t she supposed to be on a meteor headed for this session around then? You don’t understand, but you suppose it wouldn’t make a difference if you did.
    
              When you skirt around a corner somewhere on the second floor, you nearly run over Rose and her girlfriend. Or maybe they would’ve run over you. Now that you’re looking at her, this troll girl, Kanaya as you’ve come to learn, is about your height and firmly built. You’d liken her to an Amazon, and similarly just as intimidating. It only makes you a little nervous when she and Rose smile with recognition.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              “Hi,” Rose greets smoothly. “We wondered when our path would cross with yours.”
    
              You raise an eyebrow, just as smoothly you might add. “Yeah?”
    
              She nods. “You appear to be avoiding someone. I hope it’s not me.”
    
              “Not unless you’re a dangerously overclocked supercomputer prototyped with a sweaty muscle troll.”
    
              “Can’t say that I am.” She holds her hand out to you. “You already know my name by this point, but I’d be loath to not introduce myself properly. I’m Rose.”
    
              “Dirk,” you offer back, shaking her hand firmly before switching to Kanaya, who in turn introduces herself in a similar fashion. Despite your suspicions that she could easily snap you in half, she has a welcoming, what you assume to be motherly air about her.
    
              You end up hanging out with them for a bit, getting to know your ecto-daughter who seems surprisingly excited to get to know you. You learn her intellect easily rivals your own, though your fields of interest are fairly different. While you deal in software and mechanics, she dabbles in psychoanalysis and eldritch mythologies. You soon fall into idle banters of irony, but tone it back when Kanaya begins to think you’re sincerely ragging on each other. Nevertheless, talking with her is so comfortable that rather than a long-lost daughter, Rose feels like an old friend. She reminisces the three years they spent traveling on a meteor and mentions some things she knew about your Pre-Scratch self, but skirts over anything about the relationship you had with Dave. _That’s_ a red flag if you’ve ever seen one. There’s something there that makes it clear she feels she’s not the right one to broach that subject, so you don’t push her. You’ve kind of been avoiding your Pre-Scratch Bro altogether actually, despite desperately wanting to talk to him. But you deduce that there’s just simply not enough time in the world to prepare you for such an encounter without immediately putting your foot in your mouth.
    
              And frankly, he honestly doesn’t seem all that jazzed to meet you anyway, so your excessive pride bars you from providing any opportunity for him to express his disappointment.
    
              You talk until Jane and Roxy return with all manner of items tucked away in the wallet Jane found left behind by her dad. By coincidence, Vriska and Terezi arrive not too long later after doing god knows what. You’re surprised how readily everyone collaborates to place the décor, a plethora of bubble-popping salamanders included who’ve brought random trinkets in an effort to contribute to your strange living situation. Soon enough, the once empty hut-hive hybrid begins to feel somewhat like a home with twelve bedrooms and mysteriously working electricity.
    
              There are also six inexplicably operational bathrooms. When you ask Roxy how that’s possible, she just kind of laughs nervously and floats away.
    
              You’re not sure what you expected.
    
              You help Rose move Jade to one of the bedrooms so the poor girl can lay in an actual bed. Doing this prompts you and Jane to switch Jake’s bed out for a better one as well. As she takes her time tucking him in, you plop in one of the chairs you brought to this room to replace the wooden ones made by the salamanders that you could barely fit your ass into and fiddle with your puffy asshole pants.
    
              “We’re going to have to get Serket to explain what the hell the deal is with the end of this game,” you inform her grudgingly. There’s a brief hesitation to Jane’s movements, but then she straightens, places Jake’s spectacles on the nightstand, and proceeds to gently smooth out his hair so it’s not as tousled from being shuffled about so many times.
    
              “Sounds like a headache,” is her flippant remark. You smile a little, amused. “Really? You don’t think she could offer an enriching conversation?”
    
              “Not after what she said about Jake,” Jane retorts almost instantly. It’s effective in wiping the smirk off your face. Now you’re frowning, unable to avoid reflection on why exactly you reacted so badly to Vriska’s argument earlier.
    
              Some seconds pass before you gather enough courage to query, “How do we know she’s not right in assuming those things?”
    
              Jane looks at you then, perplexed. “Would it matter to you?”
    
              “I mean... Say she _is_ right and Jake comes to. We’ll have to figure out where’d be best to put him so he doesn’t immediately get himself killed.”
    
              She scrutinizes you quietly for a moment, possibly registering what you might be implying. Her next question is slow. “Are you asking this because you think he’s incapable of holding his own, or is it because you’re afraid he’s gonna screw it up for everyone else?”
    
              “No, look—”
    
              “Because that sounds like something _I_ might say, Dirk. Not you.”
    
              You blink, taken aback. Her expression has twisted into something else, maybe guilt. She studies the floor with a sigh as she adds, “I know you’re still bothered by what she said. But if you thought he was a screw-up, I don’t think you would have gotten so ruffled, especially since it seemed like she was only being honest.” She pauses, pursing her lips before stubbornly admitting the next bit. “But you know Jake better than anyone.”
    
              She makes a valiant attempt at hiding the resentment hidden in that admission. You notice it anyway.
    
              “I know you worry because the boy’s as clumsy as they come. Heck, looking after him during all our years of friendship has assuredly earned me a couple grey hairs by now,” she chuckles before her face turns serious again. “But don’t let her make you lose faith in him. I’ve known him long enough to recognize just how much he relies on his friends returning the belief he has in us, and if he loses that—”
    
              “That’s not happening. You don’t have to worry about that,” you interrupt. Jane gives a small smile at the reassurance, though you don’t return it. She wasn’t mistaken in saying you’ve been stewing over that conversation all this time, but she doesn’t know why. You take a deep breath, and before you realize it, you’re talking again. “But you’re not wrong. The fact that my feathers got so thoroughly ruffled could probably be attributed to a far more personal reason...”
    
              Wow. Telling her that sure was a decision. Since when did you invite your friends into your issues so freely? Way to drop the gate and let people bypass those walls you’re so god damn proud of.
    
              “And that reason being...?” she urges, not unexpectedly. Your response shoots out too quickly. “Forget it. It’s not important.”
    
              Despite the inarguable firmness of your dismal deflection, Jane twists to face you fully now, expression ripe with reprimand as she resolutely props her hands on her hips. It’s almost comical how flawlessly she’d fit into a 50’s sitcom when she scolds, “Dirk Strider, you cannot step in to offer me comfort in lieu of my misplaced father and not allow me to return the favor! Now, if you’ve got something new boiling in your noodle, you owe it to yourself to share the burden before the weight of your combined trepidations drives you mad!”
    
              You stare at her and she holds your gaze for what feels like a solid minute. Your lips compress into a straight line that clearly communicates how much you don’t want to get into this, but it’s apparent your friend is not interested in backing down. And once Jane gets an idea in her head, it can be remarkably difficult to talk her out of it.
    
              God dammit.
    
              There’s a second deep breath before you eventually face the ceiling in defeat.
    
              “You pose a strong argument, Crocker.”
    
              She doesn’t answer, and after a quiet moment, your chin drops back down to see she’s stubbornly crossed her arms, patiently waiting for you to quit stalling. It’s moments like these that remind you how much you appreciate the control you have while communicating through a chat client.
    
              “Alright. Fine,” you begin slowly. “It’s honestly not that big a deal, but when we were talking back there, I suppose the self-important way she evidently processed her surroundings kind of got to me.”
    
              When you don’t follow with anything else, Jane skeptically raises her brow. “Really? That’s it?”
    
              Her doubt sparks an irritation inside you that makes you snap, “I’m getting there. Just give me a second, god damn! Not everyone’s as equipped to churn out their emotional complexes as some people. There are those of us that may experience our reservations a bit more viscerally when we publicize these things, alright?”
    
              You watch as Jane’s eyebrows knit together and realize you came out and preached something totally uncalled for. She opens her mouth and closes it, evidently unsure of how to respond, which effectively makes you redirect your frustrations on yourself. Rolling your eyes at your own social ineptitude, you slap a hand to your face and groan.
    
              “Sorry, Jane. Clearly I’m a little more on edge than I’d like to admit. So let me just tackle this like I’m rippin’ off a Band-Aid. Guess I owe it to you considering I’m the one that threw it out there to begin with.” You pause to gather yourself a little more, appreciate that she lets you. “Look. The big secret behind why I got pissed off is that I... _hated_ how much she reminded me of _myself_.”
    
              Jane’s eyebrows somehow shoot up higher still, surprised.
    
              “What? You didn’t see the resemblance there either?” you prod almost playfully. The mild chuckle you give is more in disbelief than anything, however, but you press on. “Calculating a person’s worth to a situation with some kind of shitty self-righteous frigid logic?” You scowl, grudgingly recalling your Auto-Responder. “Judging Jake based on the role predetermined for him by an algorithm that probably has no actual cognition of human development? For fuck’s sake, we’re _sixteen_. We’re still just _kids_. And yet there are supercilious idiots like her and me who actually somehow believe we know everything.”
    
              Your fists clench almost as tightly as your jaw with how much you’ve come to loathe yourself.
    
              “...Dirk, you’re not like her,” you hear Jane dispute softly. Unfortunately, the claim does the opposite of making you feel better. You shut your eyes, rubbing your temple. “Jane, I did the _exact_ same thing she did. She pushed and bullied her friend into showing off some fantasized instinctual growth she was hoping he’d somehow magically have, just like I did to Jake. Our cards are on the fucking table and clearly we’ve ended in a draw because they’re the same god damn hand.”
    
              You can feel her eyes on you, likely judging you for the accuracy in your parallels. At least you think so until she asks, “And will you ditch him now after things didn’t go your way?”
    
              You stop rubbing.
    
              “...No, of course not.”
    
              You sense her smile before you see it. “There. See? You’re not like her. Case closed.”
    
              “Jane, that’s not—”
    
              “Sorry. Once a case is closed it can’t be revisited. C’mon, Dirk. These are the basics of Law. I thought you studied everything under the sun?”
    
              That draws an involuntary laugh from you, however mild. You have to give her props; Jane’s been killin’ it when it comes to tickling your funny bone lately. And above all that, you do honestly feel a little better now even though all the other glaring similarities you noticed haven’t been addressed. You’d argue more but she’s kind of given you an out here, however unintentional. Since you’re really not about exploring your issues anyway, it’s for the best that you concede. Besides, how identical you are to an implicitly sociopathic troll girl is the least of your worries at the moment.
    
              “Not everything,” you say finally, and after some hesitation you add, “Thanks, Jane.”
    
              She beams in triumph, hands poised on her hips.
    
              “What are friends for?”
    
              Then she turns back to your comatose bro and proceeds to tuck him in further despite the fact that you’re fairly sure he can’t be tucked in any more than he already is. Nonetheless, you’re a little surprised when she speaks again. “Anyhoo, back on the subject of tolerating said insufferable troll woman's company so we might understand what awaits us down the line, don’t you think only one of us should have to deal with her?”
    
              You sigh deeply, finding that to be a fair deduction even if you don’t particularly care for the insinuation. “Yeah. Just give me a few minutes, then I can—”
    
              “Let me take this one,” she interrupts, to your disbelief.
    
              You stare at the back of her head for a few seconds. “...You sure?”
    
              The inquiry urges her to turn and catch your eye with a teeny smile. “You’ve done plenty. Let me take a crack at being the leader you were so confident I was going to be. Besides, I do believe I owe you one.”
    
              You have no idea what “plenty” she’s referring to, nor do you know what she would “owe” you for, but what you _are_ aware of is that you really don’t want to leave this chair right now. Dealing with so many more people than you’re used to for the past several hours, you feel like you need some alone time. Jane is much better at this social thing than you are anyway, but you also know she’s just as exhausted as you are. Against your better judgment, you open your mouth to protest.
    
              “Not to mention,” she adds before you can get a word in. “I’m afraid you’ll assault her before she actually gets to explaining her strategy.”
    
              She’s got you there. That is likely to happen.
    
              Decidedly defeated, you shut your mouth and nod instead. It’s her turn to sigh deeply this time, then on her way past you, she stops to lay her hand heavily on your shoulder. “Think I’m gonna bake a little to decompress first though.”
    
              “There’s stuff to bake with?” you ask dumbly. Your friend grins down at you. “John’s dad apparently _loved_ to bake. John said he practically never stopped baking, and I found that the contents of his pantry supported that claim. So you bet your bottom I brought all that junk with me!”
    
              Then without another minute wasted, Jane trots away and out of the room with a faint call over her shoulder, “Be sure to come out for cake! Hoo hoo!”
    
              The door shuts quietly behind her, leaving you alone with a torpid ex-boyfriend. You wonder if you should feel creepy that you find comfort in watching him sleep, but you suppose the point is moot and just take the time to enjoy it instead. You sit there for a good bit, glancing periodically at the odd mixture of posters on the walls that Jane and Roxy decorated the room with. At one point, you panicked because you thought Jake wasn’t breathing. After quickly checking his pulse and his breath to find them functioning normally, you sat back down and hid your face in your hands.
    
              You know there’s a lot you want to say to him when he wakes up, but you wouldn’t even know where to start. Hell, he probably won’t even want to see you, much less speak to you, considering he knows what kind of person you are now. The thought of Jake actually cutting you off is honestly terrifying. Maybe before, you would’ve been able to handle that, but now?
    
              The sound of the door opening again behind you almost makes you jump. You don’t immediately turn, but you pop your face out of your hands so you don’t look as pathetic while moping at your ex’s bedside. You assume it’s either Jane or Roxy.
    
              Your shock must be palpable when Dave Strider eventually takes the seat beside you.
    
              “What the fuck.”
    
              Wait. Shit. You said that out loud. Fuck. FUCK.
    
              Softly but with feeling, you just whispered “What the fuck” at the dude you’ve idolized since you gained the capacity to idolize anyone.
    
              If that horror isn’t enough, you realize you’re staring, bent over with your elbows propped on your knees like a giant idiot douche. Oh god, that’s probably exactly what he thinks you are, but you’re frozen and you can’t move on account of how positively horrified you are by your own idiot douche actions.
    
              You find it merciful that he doesn’t return your rude staring, so you’re able to eventually snap your focus back on Jake. You’re freaking out, but to be honest, even without your stupid fuck up just now, it would’ve been difficult not to freak out when the teen version of the guy you modeled yourself after just upped and took a seat all nonchalant-like next to you without warning. You _kind_ of spoke earlier when you were having a moment with Jane, but that was hardly anything more than you being perplexed by his indelicate phrasing. No, that does absolutely nothing to change the fact that you have no idea what to say to him in a situation that actually matters, but you know that whatever it ends up being, you’ll probably only fuck it up more. You really aren’t ready for this right now. Christ, this is awkward.
    
              “Yo,” he says suddenly, halting your panicked train of thought.
    
              “Yo,” you parrot.
    
              “...”
    
              “...”
    
              “So...”
    
              “...So.”
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              You are just... a couple of conversationalists, huh?
    
              “This guy,” Dave declares suddenly, gesturing at Jake. “Harleydad.”
    
              You blink. “...Jake?”
    
              “Right. Grandpa Jake.”
    
              He certainly talks like one. “What about him?”
    
              “He gonna be alright?” he asks. He speaks the same way you do, insouciant with the rare inflection, but you can sense concern in his question. You appreciate that.
    
              “I don’t know,” you answer honestly. You hope your misery isn’t noticeable. “He’s been out for a while. Got caught in some explosion a while before you guys got here.”
    
              “That sucks.”
    
              “Yeah. It does.”
    
              More silence.
    
              “So I’m guessing he’s like... Your best bud?” asks Dave.
    
              “That is...” You hesitate, thinking carefully about what you’re about to say. “A somewhat accurate assessment of the nature of our relationship, yeah.”
    
              “...Meaning?”
    
              You sigh. “Meaning that at this stage, that may be true from my perspective alone.”
    
              “Gotcha. ...You wanna talk about it?”
    
              You feel guilty that you answer, “Not really.”
    
              “Fair enough,” he yields. Though not much time passes before he speaks up again, “If it doesn’t cross that boundary of you not wanting to talk about whatever it is that you don’t want to talk about, what’s he like?”
    
              You look at him then. “Jake?”
    
              “Yeah.”
    
              Then your gaze shifts back to the person in question. You take a second to think about how you want to answer. Considering everything you know now, there’s a million and one ways you _could_ answer.
    
              “He’s cool,” you say lamely. You can practically feel when Dave’s eyes settle curiously on the back of your neck. “That’s it?”
    
              You shake your head because that reaction is valid after a response so lacking.
    
              “Well, it’s complicated,” you say. Then resignedly, you revise, “He’s complicated.”
    
              “Really?” Dave sounds a bit in disbelief at that. It makes your head turn.
    
              “Yeah.”
    
              “...Huh.”
    
              “What?” you prod.
    
              It’s his turn to shake his head. “He just looks so much like John, I figured... I don’t know. That he’d be just as simple? I guess it’s dumb to assume just because he looks like him, but John’s a simple dude, as simple as they come, really. Can’t get much simpler than John, not that that’s a bad thing. But the dude just has like... zero hang-ups. It’s honestly unfair how carefree he is.”
    
              “Yeah. He seems like the guy to take everything in stride.”
    
              “Word.”
    
              You sit back in your chair properly so you’re not awkwardly looking over your hunched shoulders at him all the time. “Jake’s pretty carefree, but he’s more... carefree in a different way, I guess.”
    
              “How does one go about being pretty carefree in a way that isn’t carefree in a traditional sense?”
    
              Asking the real questions.
    
              “By convincing himself it’s not his business when those cares are running all wild and free around him. Try as they might to get his attention, Jake just marches through like a stone-cold motherfucker.” You regret how bitterly you said that. “He’s a good guy though,” you quickly add. Convincing, Strider.
    
              "Well, you guys seem to care about him a lot, so I’m inclined to believe you,” Dave agrees.
    
              The silence lasts longer this time. It still feels awkward sitting together like this, and you suppose it’s because you’ve noticed how tense he is. You’re tense too. Your collective tenseness only makes the anxiety you have at this whole situation all the more intense.
    
              “Yo, if it’s chill with you,” Dave starts again. He’s actually quite the talker, you muse. “I have some things I kinda wanted to say, get off my chest and such. Y’know. Just to throw out there so they can float around over this Strider jam session before I clam up and decide these pieces really aren’t worth getting into because they both do and don’t have everything to do with you. Feel free to chime in any time, or I guess you don’t have to. When I get to talkin’, I know it can be difficult to get a word in edgewise, so just stop me if I’m rambling too hard. That’s kind of my thing.”
    
              You don’t know how else to reply aside from, “Okay.”
    
              “Okay,” he repeats. You wait.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              “...Okay, so let me just preface that even though we’ve barely spoken until now, everything I’ve seen has me convinced that you are... _vastly_ different from the you I knew in my universe. And even just from sitting here and talking to you, it’s clear that you’re a pretty decent human being?” he ends in a question, causing you to raise an eyebrow. You can’t help but chime in already. “Well let’s not jump to conclusions here, but I’m guessing the me from your universe... wasn’t?”
    
              “Human? Pretty damn sure he wasn’t, at least not in the psychological sense. He had skin and organs and stuff, but I wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if I discovered he was a homicidal android in disguise.” Dave pauses, directs his gaze a bit farther away from you. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I didn’t fuckin’ like you that much.”
    
              “I don’t fuckin’ like myself that much either,” you find yourself replying. Even though the statement itself is sincere, you feel like an asshole for some reason. Like in a way, what you said somehow belittles Dave’s less than affable feelings towards you. Or another version of you, though you’re not sure how clear of a distinction there is there.
    
              Dave turns back to face you, seemingly appalled. “See? That right there. That’s something he never would’ve said. Not unless he was being ironic. Something like... acknowledging there was something profoundly wrong with him. Pretty sure he wasn’t capable of any kind of introspection at all.”
    
              Interesting, considering introspection is pretty much all you fuckin’ do. You don’t rightly know how to stop.
    
              “When Rose mentioned we were all probably going to meet the teen versions of our parental figures, I felt like I was going to hurl. Meeting another equally fucked up albeit younger douchebag like my bro was probably the last thing I wanted to deal with after finally realizing how fucked in the ass my childhood was.”
    
              Questionable phrasing. Hopefully not a parapraxis though that seems to be his vernacular. You resolve not to comment.
    
              “So I decided that when our paths eventually crossed, that I wanted nothing to do with you. Let someone else deal with all that because I already did my time being raised by a horrible, violent sociopath that probably should never have been let anywhere near a child in hindsight.”
    
              You guess that explains his initial reaction to you when you first saw each other.
    
              “And then we met, and you talked just like him, and you carried yourself just like him, and I swear I fuckin’ had war flashbacks to that shitty apartment full of sex puppets and appliances used for exactly the wrong purpose. I felt myself lock into full sneak mode because it’s ingrained in me to keep my guard up when he’s around if I don’t want to get the shit beat out of me with the dull edge of a shitty katana or a devil puppet’s creepy wooden face.”
    
              Lil’ Cal, you guess.
    
              He pauses his rant, but you’re still absorbing how horrible of a person every version of you inevitably is, so you don’t have anything to say. You soon learn that he doesn’t intend you to.
    
              “...But then I saw how you reacted when moxy, uh. Fuck. Roxy, I mean. How she got all excited about me and Rose. Like you were genuinely happy that she was excited because she’s a good friend you care about. That was cool. And when Vriska, being Vriska, started ragging on Jade’s grandpa here, you almost did some shit. I’m not sure what shit, but you almost did it because someone was talking smack about your bro, and that’s really cool. And again, with Nana Egbert bein’ all upset. I think that’s what did it for me: to see a version of my bro trying to sincerely comfort someone like that. Bro _never_ did anything like that for me. Hell, he hardly ever touched me, and it made me realize you’re a completely different person—someone who’s made different choices and got himself some friends, who checks himself and at least has a general idea what a moral compass is.” Dave gives another pause, fiddling with some kind of bracelet he’s wearing on his far wrist. At first, you think it’s a watch, but the face of it protrudes like... a literal foam ass. When things are less serious, you want to know the story behind that and what purpose it serves.
    
              “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry?”
    
              His non-statement shocks you enough to noticeably snap your attention back to his face. You expected a number of things to bloom from his haranguing of your Pre-Scratch self, but the literal last thing you expected was an apology.
    
              “Uh, that’s a bit backwards. Shouldn’t... _I_ be the one apologizing here?” you propose uncertainly. “Y’know, for ruining yet another perfectly innocent kid with my universal toxicity and setting the standard for shittiest parental figure in the history of ever?”
    
              “But that wasn’t _you_. Just some... terrible, probably clinically insane version of you that I was unlucky enough to get picked up by when I spiraled toward the Earth on an equally unlucky pony. It wasn’t you that “trained” me until I was disgusted with the idea of fighting. It wasn’t you that “raised” me using an indeterminate number of layers featuring dumb irony and solemn bullshit bro-ninja code that probably traumatized me on a number of levels that I’m not altogether ready to dive into. You didn’t do any of that, which is why I’m apologizing for projecting this awful, insane idea of a dude onto you and predetermining that I’d want nothing to do with you when we hadn’t even met yet. Because _this_ version of you doesn’t deserve to be blamed for the dumb, fucked up shit _that_ version of you did. Don’t get me wrong, it feels kinda good to finally be saying all this since I can’t really talk to anyone else about it, but my issues with my bro aren’t anything you’re obligated to deal with, so it’d be unfair of me to unload it all on you while expecting some kind of confused, guilt-ridden apology,” he explains, sinking a bit further into his chair in a motion that might classify as contrition. “Especially since when I look at you, I just see a tired guy who looks like he’s struggling to do his best, which is more than my bro ever did.”
    
              You watch him for a bit, then you face the front again.
    
              “I guess you’re not wrong, but I don’t think it’s quite right for me to be entirely exonerated just because I wasn’t the “active” Dirk that treated you like shit. I feel that in a way, I’m still liable for those actions even if they weren’t executed by me specifically. The way you described him, he didn’t sound _un_like me. I could totally envision myself doing all those awful things you said he did because they sound exactly like the kinds of things someone like me would do if I ran around unchecked, trying to raise a kid I had no business raising.” You’re really no stranger to throwing yourself under the bus, huh? Is it that Dave already defended you on your behalf that you feel like it’s your turn to antagonize yourself?
    
              “...You strike me as someone who wrestles a lot with his demons,” he quietly points out. “Like you’re constantly checking that moral compass to make sure the path you’re walking on ain’t gonna lead you to some dark shit.”
    
              “That’s a fair observation,” you admit.
    
              “Well... If it counts, you seem to be doing pretty okay so far, so... Good job. That can’t be easy.”
    
              For some reason, his praise strikes a chord in you—in a good way. It’s not like he commended you in any extravagant sense, but maybe that’s exactly why it resonates so much louder. A sincere, little acknowledgment that reminds you everything so far has been worth it. All the same, it makes your heart leap and you’re afraid you might be getting choked up over it like some sentimental idiot. You notice you’re smiling.
    
              “Thanks, man. Seriously.” You clasp your hands together in your lap and tilt your head back so you’re looking at the ceiling. “I think I needed that.”
    
              The tension between you has been reduced to almost nothing now and you’re glad. You still have a lot to talk about, but the reprieve is nice. You wonder if you should take it somewhere else though, since getting your Strider feels out while staring at Jake’s comatose body is probably considered strange on some level. You open your mouth to suggest exactly that when a crash sounds outside the bedroom, followed by some kind of screeching. You and Dave exchange perplexed glances before walking together toward the door.
    
              The pair of you anxiously peer out to scan the perimeter. Jake’s designated bedroom is the one just angled off from the first-floor living room and kitchen area. There are several people there, but the one in particular that grabs your attention, mostly because she’s currently shouting, is none other than Vriska Serket. She’s flushed blue with anger, visibly flustered, covered in streaks and puffs of white. Whipped cream, you think. And judging by the fact that her enraged screaming is being directed at a smug-looking Jane Crocker who seems to simultaneously be playing the innocence card, you assume what you’re witnessing is the result of a successful prank involving that door located behind Vriska, and the bucket near their feet.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              You almost shed a tear, you’re so proud of her.
    
              Terezi walks up and shamelessly starts to pick away and eat the whipped cream garnishing her friend, effectively causing Vriska to round on her even more flustered than before. The only other two present are Rose and Kanaya, who are doing an admirably good job stifling their giggles while seated off to the side on one of the couches. Vriska’s still yelling as you and Dave silently retreat back into the safety of the bedroom and shut the door. You look at each other.
    
              “That sure was a thing that just happened,” says Dave.
    
              “Sure was,” you agree.
    
              “So John’s mom likes pranks too?”
    
              You assume he’s implying John also takes interest in practical jokes.
    
              You nod. “I’ve come to learn that she is... terrifyingly good at them.”
    
              He nods too. “That’s cool. If anyone deserves to be on the receiving end of that, it’s probably Serket. Though, the bucket was a bit... brutal.”
    
              “Why’s that?” you ask, but then you remember what buckets mean for trolls. At least you have a little bit of an inkling given the history of your doomed version of a Condesce-enslaved Earth. “Oh. I don’t think Jane knows actually.”
    
              Dave smirks. “I think that honestly just makes it better.”
    
              You both move to sit back down at the same time. You conclude Jake wouldn’t mind too much if you loitered around a bit longer.
    
              “Hey,” he starts as soon as you're settled in. “Can you tell me about the me from your universe?”
    
              You can’t help but smile again. “That’s a fair bit of info. You sure you’re ready to hear all that?”
    
              He mirrors you. “Lay it on me, bro.”
    

> [Jake: Wake up.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/58402972#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was my shortened remix of that Strider jam session from canon. Hope it held up somewhat under these differing conditions.
> 
> Rip, Vriska. But also you kind of deserved it.
> 
> Also love that the people present in this last scene implies that Roxy and Karkat might be hanging out together somewhere with the troll sprites, lmao.


	22. Jake: Wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. Was supposed to post this yesterday, but ACNH is destroying my life. In my defense, my week restarts on Mondays so I technically didn't miss my deadline, lmao.
    
    
              Heavy. Everything.
    
              Your head. Your body.
    
              Heavy is the only word you can think to describe it.
    
              Then as consciousness slowly returns, the feel of receding pins and needles swells. There are voices in your head, stifled by white noise, so much overlapping at once before quieting too quickly, leaving you disoriented.
    
              Your eyes drift open long before you’re able to process that you’re seeing anything. And when your vision finally registers, and the blurriness clears, you see a wall. Or maybe it’s a ceiling? You’re laying on your back, aren’t you?
    
              Definitely disoriented, but not in pain.
    
              What the hell happened to you?
    
              You squeeze your eyes shut and groan—
    
              “...Jake?”
    
              —only to jump, eyes snapping open because holy Toledo, you’re not alone.
    
              Someone sits on the edge of the bed to your right, and it takes several seconds to recognize the blonde hair and velvet gaze beneath all that navy.
    
              “_Jakey..._”
    
              Oh no. She looks like she’s about to cry.
    
              Alarmed, you push yourself into a sitting position and ask, “Roxy? What’s the matter?”
    
              Before you’re even finished speaking, Roxy has draped herself over you, arms tight around your neck, words spilling out so fast, you can hardly process them. The force jams her folded arms into the headboard of the bed you’re laying in but she doesn’t seem to notice. “_God_, Jakey! You’re alright you’re okay you’re fine everything’s fine it’s all fine oh god oh god my baby English...!”
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              She keeps rambling more nonsense like that while you try to collect yourself, arms hesitant in returning her embrace as you remember all the shit. Swallowing, she’s still saying things when you stammer, “Uhm... Roxy, I don’t... Forgive me, but I can’t seem to surmise what the deuce is going on.”
    
              Roxy pulls back at that, hands sliding to your shoulders. You’re a bit relieved that she’s the only one in the room with you because the woman is overwhelming enough all on her own. You don’t think you would’ve been able to say a word if Dirk and Jane had also been present. She fixes you with a fuzzy look you can’t place prior to asking, “What’s the last thing you remember?”
    
              You pause, do your best to recall...
    
              John saved the four of you and brought you to his planet. You talked. You walked. You absconded when you reached the village because someone was messaging you...
    
              “I was talking to uu,” you say slowly. “He’d been trying to grab my attention during all that malarkey that I responded just so my fudging Sylladex would stop juddering. Said he had a present or something for me and I told him I didn’t want it because good gravy, look at what his last present did!”
    
              “What last present?” she questions with, what you suspect, a raised eyebrow, while reaching for something on the nightstand nearby and handing it to you—your glasses, you realize. Accepting them gratefully, you slide them on before eyeing her, perplexed at her inquiry. Then you realize she wouldn’t know anything about _how_ all that trickster twaddle happened. She’d just been swept along for the ride.
    
              “Oh, uhm... That is...” You look away from her, suddenly wishing you hadn’t said anything. Now you’ve set yourself up to give her yet _another_ reason to be sick of you. And try as you might, you can’t avoid this one. “The thing that made Jane and all of us slave to mischievous confectionery shenanigans,” you reveal reluctantly, prepared for the reproach.
    
              “Oh, of fucking _course_ it’s that guy’s fault. No fucking wonder,” she grouses, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. You catch the click of her sucking her cheek in annoyance. “Christ, what a dick...”
    
              You regard her carefully, surprised that she’s not angry with you, though it’s not like you made it clear that _you_ were the one who foolishly sent—
    
              “So he sent you something again?” Roxy asks suddenly. It probably isn’t good to be relieved that you don’t have to acknowledge your share of the blame for now.
    
              “Uh, right. Yes, he did. I found it on a Transportalizer nearby. It was a pumpkin...” you trail off, do your best to remember what was in it but you can’t. Roxy studies you for a moment, then she shifts again to grope for something on the floor. “Was this inside of it?” she asks, presenting what looks like a crowbar.
    
              You stare at it, then shake your head. “If it was, I don’t remember seeing it. I can’t remember anything past that I’m afraid.”
    
              She sighs and puts it down, but she doesn’t seem disappointed. “That’s fine. What matters is that you’re okay. I seriously thought this was gonna be some shit where you didn’t wake up for days or something. You’ve been out for hours!”
    
              Your eyebrows shoot up at that.
    
              “I have?”
    
              “Yeah, man.” She nods. “I wanna say like... eleven? Twelve hours, maybe? My phone got stuck at whatever time it was that we entered the session forever ago, so I don’t really have anything to go off of except that a lot’s happened since you got knocked the fuck out, bro. It’s super lucky that you happened to wake up after I came in here to get away from everyone because I defo did not expect you to.”
    
              “Holy smokes! What all shot the hoop?”
    
              Roxy smiles at you. It’s not her typical cat-like grin, but somehow softer, which is saying something because all of Roxy’s looks feel warm and welcoming to you. You’re not sure what this one means.
    
              “Oh, so many shots have been made, J, believe you me. The net is so abused, what bits are left still hanging on the ring look like they just wanna be lain to rest at this point,” she answers, giving pause. She peeks at the doorway leading out of the room, prompting you to briefly wonder where you are. It looks too patchworked together, dark stony walls with a bright white wooden door. Weren’t the roofs in the salamander village thatch? Because that is definitely a solid white ceiling you woke up to.
    
              “I guess the biggest thing you missed is that the rest of our ectobiological kiddies sprung up riding a meteor like that ain’t no thing and we got to meet them and their troll bros,” she starts, crossing her arms.
    
              The news causes you to fall back against the headboard in disbelief.
    
              “Oh my stars and garters...”
    
              “That’s what I said!” Roxy beams at you again. You know she most definitely did not say that and she’s just teasing you like she loves to do. You’d grin back, but you’re preoccupied with trying to comprehend simply _that_ bit of information.
    
              “So... outside...?”
    
              “Yep,” she replies, exaggerating the ‘p’. “Just outside that door is a congregation of fauna comprised of our long-lost offspring and their patron trollian refugees.”
    
              You are _definitely_ not ready for all that.
    
              Then Roxy lights up as if she’s just remembered something, excited. “I finally got to meet my mom, Jake! She’s our age but she’s every bit as cool as I imagined her, and super pretty to boot! Oh my god, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw her!”
    
              You grin because her enthusiasm is contagious. “Well, of course she would be! She gave birth to someone as gorgeous as you, didn’t she?”
    
              Roxy laughs, smacking your arm playfully. “No, not quite, but I’m picking up what you’re putting down, you cheesy sweetie.”
    
              She takes a deep breath, and you know already that she has plenty more to gush about. “And my son? Well, he’s more Dirk’s son than mine, but my genes still have a hand in that precious boy. He’s so cute, Jake. Gosh, I already love them so much. I can’t wait for you to meet them. They’ll love you!”
    
              You falter a bit at that, and when Roxy pauses, you know she sees it.
    
              “What’s wrong?” she probes, poking your side. You absentmindedly cover the area she poked with one of your hands, somewhat guarded.
    
              “Oh, nothing!” you reassure her, avoid her stare. You probably don’t come off as all that reassuring because you see her tilt her head out of the corner of your eye.
    
              “Jake, babe. Look at me,” she prompts, caressing your fleeing chin with the tips of her fingers so she can guide you back. Soon she’s cradling your cheeks in her hands and giving you a hard look, face almost uncomfortably close to yours. You finally notice that she hasn’t been wearing her new eye mask and wonder when she’d taken it off. “They’ll love you,” she repeats sternly. “They’re gonna love you just like Dirk, Jane, and I love you and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              She blinks, adds as an afterthought, “Okay, maybe not like Dirk. That’s going too hard.”
    
              You ignore that bit along with the lurch in your chest.
    
              Take a deep breath.
    
              “I’m sorry,” you say.
    
              Roxy blinks again. A few seconds tick by, then she rolls her eyes a second time, hands falling into her lap as she straightens up. “Lord, not this again...”
    
              “No, I really am. For taking you for granted,” you revise quickly. You’re not really thinking when you tilt forward and grab her hands in your own. She looks startled.
    
              “All of you, really. You’re all so bent on coddling me it seems, and I haven’t the foggiest idea why, because I’m really not as cracked up as you all think me to be. Just look at the way I treated you since we entered this preposterous universe! Why, I have half a mind to tell you all to leave me behind and not look back!” you admit, and even you’re staggered by how honestly you say it. Your friend gapes a little, then she frowns. “Jake, no. Don’t say that.”
    
              “I mean it, Roxy,” you stress. You’re surprised that your hands don’t tremble over hers. “I don’t know. Perhaps it sounds harsh... But you all do such amazing things all the time, and all I do is sit back and ponder how lucky I am that you all squander your energy letting me ride your coattails. By golly, aside from my grandma, you are the shrewdest, most resourceful woman I’ve ever met! Okay, maybe that’s not saying much since I haven’t met too many people, but I always thought you and Dirk were like superheroes! You two and sweet old Jane have always been so talented. I mean, just look at you!”
    
              You make a vague gesture at, well, all of her. The action causes her to pout and peer down at herself, befuddled. Consarn it! You didn’t mean her appearance!
    
              You continue before she can question it. “You used to write all that fanciful prose about ‘majyyks’ while being so well-read in all those ologies I just can’t seem to wrap my thick head around. Not to mention how great you are with technology. Is it hacking that you do? Or maybe programming... Whatever it is, I’m sure your skill level in it is nothing to thumb one’s nose at! If that isn’t enough, you’re probably a better shot than I am! Pride be damned!” you exclaim, dropping your gaze to your clasped hands. “And on top of all that, you’re so... You’re such a spanking great friend and I don’t think we tell you enough. Or maybe I say so too much that now it seems superficial and superfluous but—”
    
              “Jake. Honey. Stop.”
    
              You meet Roxy’s eyes again, stunned to find her smiling.
    
              “You’re gonna see some funky fresh tears if you keep going and I’ve cried all I’m willing to cry today as it is,” she reasons, amused. You watch her sigh again, briefly wondering what she could’ve been crying about before you woke up. “Lordy, you and Dirk are just raring to kill me with love today, huh? You boys have appreciated me so hard in the last twenty-four hours, it makes up for the last few years. Trust me.”
    
              “Codswallop.” The retort falls instantly. “I don’t believe that for a second!”
    
              She giggles. “Okay, maybe not. But my appreciation gauge is full to bursting, so you best quit it with all them tender words and settle for physical affection or something.” She makes a show of fanning herself. “Hoo, look now. You got me all flustered after all that praise.”
    
              You chuckle. But Roxy catches you off guard by sighing for the umpteenth time and adding, “Besides, it’s not like I ain’t got my fair share of stuff to be sorry for.”
    
              You raise an eyebrow, perplexed.
    
              “Roxy, what on this god given earth can you possibly be sorry for?”
    
              For whatever reason, this rips a laugh from her, blaring and boisterous. “Christ, you guys! You make me out to be some sort of angel or something. I got flaws, damn it!”
    
              “Hogwash! I refuse to heed such blasphemous tommyrot!”
    
              “Heed it, bro. This gal be as imperfect as they come.” She’s still laughing, and you’re glad to feel the atmosphere lighten around you again. You lean back against the headboard a second time, but you don’t release her hands. “Alright, woman. Hit me with your fictitious grovels and I’ll inform you of how groundless they are.”
    
              “Haha. Okay, slick.” The girl quiets, smile falling after a moment. She peers at your joined hands much like you had done earlier, brow quirked in concentration.
    
              “How ‘bout this one,” she starts finally. “I’m sorry that for a really long time... and I mean a _really_ long time. Like... probably ever since we became friends almost—_that_ long of a time, I’ve always...”
    
              Roxy hesitates, like she’s afraid to finish. You squeeze her hands, hoping that’s enough to encourage her. Her eyes close as she squeezes back.
    
              “I’ve always... Kind of... Resented you.”
    
              ...Oh.
    
              Hm.
    
              “I’d hardly call that a flaw. I assume...” You begin, unsure. “It was something I did and just didn’t think to—”
    
              “That’s exactly it, Jake,” she interjects. “You didn’t do anything.”
    
              “Oh.”
    
              Now you’re confused.
    
              She shakes her head. “So remember when we talked about my feelings for Dirk? Pfft! Like we even had to; that secret’s about as well-kept as your cruddy comic book collection.”
    
              “Hey!”
    
              “Look me in the eye and tell me that shit ain’t strewn about all over your bedroom floor,” she prompts without missing a beat.
    
              You can’t fulfill her request.
    
              “That’s what I thought.” She nods, victorious. “Take better care of your precious fanboy paraphernalia, ya dingus.”
    
              “Duly noted,” you concede.
    
              “Anyway, so yeah. I’m in love with Dirk, or at least I’m pretty sure I am. Have been since... God, since forever it feels like. Can’t remember the fudgin’ day or anything, but it was probably around when we met you and Janey. And man, I fell _hard_. By the time I realized I was trapped in a downward spiral of “ho shit I wanna spend the rest of my life with this poor sap”, I was so lost in my throes of passion fantasies, Magellan couldn’t navigate to wherever the hell I wound up. I mean, can you blame me? A dude like that who’s cooler than a cucumber?”
    
              “Oh, no doubt,” you agree.
    
              “And that _ass_.”
    
              An involuntary laugh jerks out of your chest. God damn it, Roxy! This is supposed to be serious!
    
              “A rump of the finest quality!” you can’t help but remark anyway, grinning.
    
              “God, tell me what it was like touching that fine behind. I need to know. For science,” she pleads, leaning into your space. “You gotta give me the deets, boy.”
    
              “Roxy, we’re getting off topic,” you warn her.
    
              You also just don’t want to admit you’ve never touched it. At least not intentionally.
    
              Your eager friend harrumphs, pulling back in disappointment. “Fine, we’ll come back to that later. You and Strider have deprived me of juicy Girl Talks for half a year, English. I demand compensation after all this time. You’re not off the hook, mister.”
    
              Roxy pauses, probably trying to remember where she left off, but you think you already know where she’s headed with this.
    
              “So, you came along...” she starts slowly.
    
              Your chin dips as you repeat, “So, I came along.”
    
              “Yeah,” she affirms. “You came along, and in no time at all, you had that poor boy wrapped around your little finger. No joke. That shit happened so fast, it gave me whiplash. What the fuck, Jake.”
    
              You give a harsh shrug, exasperated. “I’ve not the slightest inkling why! I’m no Hollywood heartthrob! And good grief, does my personality leave something to be desired!”
    
              She snorts. “You give yourself _way_ too little credit, but I’ll harp on that later.
    
              “So anyway, there went Dirk. But y’know, at least I had Jane. She was my first real girlfriend. I mean, I had Calliope too, but I didn’t know her that well yet since she was all secret, hush hush about herself. But I was excited, you know? We hit it off so well and, despite the little speed bump of her not believing me about being from the future and all that, she and I could talk about just about anything. Speaking of underappreciated, I feel like we don’t appreciate Jane _nearly_ enough.”
    
              “Oh, absolutely! The poor girl deserves to be reminded every day, I reckon! How can we be getting away with such appalling offenses, Lalonde?”
    
              “Oh, it’s positively criminal, English. Let me tell ya. The feds are coming and the bars are waiting, and you know it’ll serve our asses right.”
    
              "Too well.”
    
              Boy, you two go off topic _way_ too much, but you suppose that’s just the charm of your relationship. Also, you guess it doesn’t really matter because you can already tell where she’s getting at here too. “I suppose it was much the same case with Jane then, hm?” you voice your thoughts solemnly.
    
              Roxy directs her nod at the ceiling. You notice she’s begun to play with your fingers. “Oh, that girl had the hots for you long before we came into the picture. I just couldn’t win, honestly. Wasn’t in the cards. I guess I got used to it right quick, at least. You probably haven’t noticed, but when it comes to you, I’m like chopped liver to them. Hell, sometimes I feel invisible. Like at first, I kind of considered you a rival, but boy, was I deluding myself. Forget being the competition. I was a frickin’ bystander to the greyhound derby where Dirk and Jane were the greyhounds and you were the hare, and all I could really do was place my bets on who I thought would catch you in the maw of their adulation first.”
    
              “...Who’d you bet on?” you can’t help but ask.
    
              She chuckles, meets your gaze again. “Janey. But I feel like that was just my foolish hope to keep Dirk all to myself.”
    
              You nod because that’s fair.
    
              “I’m sorry,” you apologize awkwardly.
    
              Another snort. “I told you, none of that was your fault. Stop trying to commandeer my apology, ya jerk. Besides, you can’t help how wickedly charming you are. Heck, _I_ was crushing on you for a bit there too.”
    
              “What, really??” Not Roxy too! What in the halibut?!
    
              Roxy smirks, amused. “Totes. That is, until I realized how Dirk and Jane felt about you already. Decided I wasn’t too keen on jeopardizing our friendship by throwing my hat in the ring. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t a little bitter about not being allowed to woo you though. I don’t know if you know this, but you’re just so very crushable, Jakey. You’re cursed. Sorry.” 
    
              You give her an incredulous look. “Well then I guess you three can bond over your awful taste in men. Great Caesar’s flippin’ ghost, I really don’t know what you all see in me. There’s no way I’m _that_ attractive!”
    
              Now Roxy pins _you_ with an incredulous look, then she extracts one of her hands from yours so she can reach into her Sylladex, sounding put upon. “Alright, hold up.” She pulls out her phone, clicks around on it a few times, raises it until you hear the snap of a picture being taken, then she turns the screen your direction and nearly hits your nose when she shoves it at you.
    
              “God, you didn’t even try, but _look_. Look at that face,” she orders in a voice that sounds suspiciously like she’s done with your tomfoolery. Blinking, you study the photo that stares back at you just as puzzled as you feel.
    
              It’s... Well, it’s sure you. No doubt about that. You never thought yourself to be an unsightly fellow by any means, but your heart isn’t exactly stopping at the sight of yourself either. You study those dark green eyes, straight nose, abnormally large front teeth just barely peeking out over your pouting lip... Well, you’ve always took pride in the strength of your jaw, you guess. 
    
              “That is your face, Jake,” Roxy announces like she thinks you’re not aware. “And let me tell you, you are a devilishly handsome dude, right at home in the brand of attractive I like to call ‘Pepper’: bright eyes and rugged allure.”
    
              Your eyebrows furrow as the phone drops so you can look at her properly. “You really think so?” You’re honestly not seeing it, but all your friends seem to feel otherwise.
    
              “I don’t need to think, I know so. You’re a total babe, just like me. We can identify our own kind.” She winks. “And okay, yeah. Where your personality’s concerned, maybe you can be a bit of an oblivious asshole, perhaps more frequently than others. But like I told you before, everyone’s like that; you’re only human. You don’t mean to be a dick, and it’s not like you had anyone around that wasn’t too blinded by reverence to call you out on it—that’s our bad, frankly. Just look at Dirk though. Dude can be the biggest douche sometimes, but it doesn’t mean he’s not a selfless lovable dork, because he totally is despite what cold, aloof façade he tries to fool everyone with.”
    
              Okay, that’s certainly true.
    
              “I know you’re reluctant to accept it after all that stuff that happened between us. I get that. But I need you to know you’re a magnetically charming doofus and you got us all stuttering and tripping over each other trying to sweep you off your feet, even if we don’t realize that’s exactly what we’re doing,” she explicates, and despite the humor in her tone, her eyes are filled with such sincerity that you’re inclined to finally believe her, even if she is exaggerating.
    
              You surrender. “Alright.”
    
              “Cool,” she says, squeezing your fingers again. “Now take a selfie with your fellow babe.”
    
              Roxy doesn’t give you time to even comprehend the sudden shift in conversation when she scoots closer and leans into you without warning. You feel her soft cheek graze up against yours and promptly freak out.
    
              “Oh, u-uhm!”
    
              Oh god. What do you do? Should you pose? This is all happening so fast!
    
              “Give love to the camera, J!”
    
              How do you do that?!
    
              The camera clicks before you can figure it out and Roxy’s already moved away. Good grief! At least you were giving a little smile, you think.
    
              “Awh, we’re so flippin’ cute! Look at us!” she practically sings, twisting and leaning back into your chest so you can view the picture over her shoulder.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              ...Huh, despite your inner turmoil, you look pretty relaxed. You’re not sure how you managed that. You admire how the pair of you look pretty good together, your darker features contrasting nicely with much more gently tanned skin. Roxy truly is a fetching dame, fair features with an hourglass figure, made only more beautiful by a wonderful personality, and any gentleman worth his salt would be utterly chuffed to have her. You’d voice it, but Roxy forbade you from flattering her anymore today, so you better save it for tomorrow.
    
              “Can you send that to me?” you solicit instead.
    
              “Yeah, yeah!” she says. “Oh!” Then she pops up and away from you again. “Thanks for reminding me. I almost forgot to give you back your phone.”
    
              Just as she says this, the familiar green of it pops into existence between you, dropping into her outstretched free hand just before she hands it over. “Jane gave it to me earlier.”
    
              “Oh, thanks!”
    
              You accept it gratefully. Despite your surfeit of computers, there’s really nothing quite as convenient as the tiny screen in your hand. You captchalogue it to look at later.
    
              You’re surprised when Roxy leans back into you so easily (she gives an amused apology at your small ‘doof’), about as surprised as you are when you come to find you’re not all that bothered by how touchy-feely she is. You didn’t get to interact with her all that much since meeting in person, but she’s always given you space. Out of all of you, she’s generally the most affable, which makes you feel guilty for being so daunted around her. But she’s just so... larger than life. Out of all your friends, you feel like you deserve her friendship the least. You wonder if her clinginess is because she was convinced you were in a coma earlier. But this is fine. Roxy’s warm and soft, and wouldn’t you know it, she smells like something you don’t recognize but it doesn’t matter because it’s super inviting. Even as a weight against your chest, she’s a comfortable weight. Your arms seem to wrap around her of their own accord, clasping over her stomach.
    
              You think you’d be able to fall for her frightfully easily if the circumstances were different. You decide to keep that thought to yourself.
    
              Her body tenses and relaxes against you during what you assume is a deep breath. Then she says, “Man, I’m glad I came in here when I did. Got to see you wake up, had a couple great feelings jams that got me all light and floaty, and now I get to be cuddled by a cute boy? It must be my motherfuckin’ birthday, holy hell.”
    
              You laugh again, rest your cheek contentedly against her hair. “Well don’t dither to proposition me for cuddles at your leisure, chum. It’s the least I can do, and I must admit, I see the appeal.”
    
              She responds with a giggle of her own. “You know Jake, this might sound bad, but I don’t think I’ve ever really realized how much I’d love hanging out with you. I guess all the bitterness deprived me of actually taking advantage of how well we could get our chill on together.”
    
              “Well, I didn’t exactly make it easy for you the past year, did I?” you’re quick to remark.
    
              “Haha, nah. But you and your boy are a whole ‘nother convo we ain’t gotta get into right now.”
    

> [==>](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/58709971#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rushed to get this done and I'll fix any mistakes later. Realized Roxy's pajama palette was wrong in the previous pages but I'm too lazy to go back and fix 'em, eyoooo.
> 
> Is it obvious that Jake/Roxy is one of my fav pale ships? Because it is. I think there's one more feels jam before we get back to the plot.
> 
> Fun fact! I drew that photo of Jake and Roxy literally one year ago today, ignoring the extra week in this leap year. Happy Anniversary Jake/Roxy photo!


	23. ==>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shhhh, it was an extra long weekend. I'm not late.
    
    
              “You sure?” Roxy prods again for what’s maybe the tenth time. You give her a look that has her lifting her hands placatingly. “I’m _just_ saying, they’re not gonna be happy I didn’t text them right away to begin with, but you wanna wait until the “morning” to let them know you’re awake?”
    
              “Well, they both texted you goodnight earlier, didn’t they?”
    
              “I mean, yeah. But c’mon. You think Dirk’s actually asleep?” she grouses with a furrowed brow. When you don’t immediately answer, she sighs in defeat. “Okay, fine. But only because I love you and I’m tired as hell. Mama Roxy needs to get some beauty sleep so she can keep being one of the babes.” She winks. “I’m tempted to just sleep here with you, but that would be scandalous.” She winks twice, pulling a laugh from you.
    
              You’re not even finished laughing when Roxy leans in and plants a light kiss on your cheek that makes you blush, and when she pulls away, she says, “If you’re gonna explore the house, be sneaky, okay? I’m pretty sure that most everyone’s asleep now, but there’s a chance you might run into someone that might flip their shit.”
    
              “I’ll keep that in mind,” you reply with a two-fingered salute. “Goodnight, Rox.”
    
              Her fingertips lightly graze where she kissed your cheek. “Goodnight, Jakey,” she returns, smile affectionate, then she leaves you alone in the quiet.
    
              You watch the door for a bit, thinking over what to do next. You suppose addressing the fact that your computers were all buzzing wildly again sometime earlier would be a good start. God, you don’t want to talk to that guy again... You pull out your cellphone and see the notification icon flashing almost mockingly. It takes several seconds of staring feverishly at the screen before you decide you want to exercise your legs first. Hopefully everyone is well on their way to dreamland by now, because you’d really rather not have to talk to anyone. Also, this Page outfit is kind of... Well. Put simply, you feel exposed.
    
              You hop out of bed and do a few stretches, arms pulled high over your head, torso twisting this way and that, legs stiff as you balance on your toes. Once satisfied, you take a deep breath, preparing yourself to be as stealthy as possible, and venture toward the door. You’ve barely taken a step and you’re already kicking something with your foot.
    
              A clattering reaches your ears and you seize up, full flight mode.
    
              Then you look down to spot the crowbar Roxy had shown you earlier. Bending down to pick it up, you weigh it in your hands. It seems like a typical, oddly red crowbar. She seemed to think it was in the pumpkin uu sent you, but you don’t recall seeing it in there. Granted, you can’t recall anything that you might’ve found in it. But the thing is strangely peculiar, light, balanced, and undamaged. It shouldn’t interest you but it does. You decide to captchalogue it, thinking it relevant for something you may run into down the line.
    
              Actually opening the door to the hallway is a painfully slow process, but it doesn’t creak in that awful way you’ve seen in movies. When you poke your head out into the hallway, there’s no one in sight.
    
              You exhale, relieved.
    
              You’re able to explore much of the building in silence. At first, you hovered about, afraid even light footsteps would alert someone to your presence. But when you actually chanced touching ground and walking, no one instantly popped up to corner you, which put an ease on your paranoia. Each floor seems to mirror the first floor, with a main area, four bedrooms, and two bathrooms. The main kitchen is on said first floor but there’s also a kitchenette on the second. On the third floor, you find a spiral staircase that leads up to a tower spire with a tiny balcony. When you swing your legs over so you can sit on the balustrade up there, you notice a matching spire poking out of the opposite corner of the house’s rooftop.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              It’s nice that the height allows you to see for miles, not to mention the fragmented Void sky from John’s planet is oddly beautiful, fading into blue near the horizon where all the fireflies twinkle about like stars. If you didn’t always feel like your life was in imminent danger, you think you would’ve loved to explore this place.
    
              Your phone buzzes again and you sigh. You suppose you can’t avoid it forever, so reluctantly, you unlock it and open Pesterchum.
    
              The flickering of undyingUmbrage is to be expected, but your eyes widen when you see another equally flashing but less recently pinged handle—one timaeusTestified. Your thumb hovers over it for a moment or two before tapping it.
    
    
    
    
    timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering golgothasTerror [GT] 
    
    
    TT: Hey.
    TT: I know you’re not conscious or anything right now but,
    TT: Uh.
    TT: When you actually are conscious.
    TT: You know, eventually.
    TT: I just figure it would be a good idea for us to
    TT: Fuck.
    TT: ...
    TT: Wait.
    TT: No.
    TT: That’s not what I meant.
    TT: Shit.
    TT: This was a bad idea. I’m sorry.
    TT: When you wake up, please just ignore this.
    TT: God.
    timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering golgothasTerror [GT]
    
    
    
     
              You read the stumbling words of your best friend several times over, not knowing if you should feel amused or sick. It’s obvious that he meant to say he wants to talk, but you’re afraid of what he wants to talk about. It’s probably not anything like him feeling that remaining friends with you would be too uncomfortable, but a less reasonable part of you insists... what if it is?
    
              Deciding right now isn’t a good time to dwell on this, you switch logs to see what uu wants instead. Most of it appears to be senseless, angry blustering and speculations of the size of moron he thinks you are. And to your chagrin, he’s left the memo open, meaning he’s still expecting a response. You guess you might as well, to rub in his face that you <s>accidentally</s> disarmed his dumb pumpkin bomb at the very least.
    
    
    
    
     
    
    
    GT: Yes dear?
    uu: HOW DARE YOU.
    uu: REMOVE THAT FILTHY WORD FROM YOUR RESPONSE.
    GT: Uh. Fairly certain thats not a feature.
    uu: THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD THINK BEFORE SPOUTING DISGUSTING GARBAGE TO YOUR SUPERIOR.
    GT: It was more like a joke since you seem to be enamored of nagging the crud out of me lately.
    uu: BOO.
    uu: WHAT AN ASTONISHINGLY LAME JOKE.
    uu: THE CROWD PROCEEDS TO PELT YOU WITH APPLES IN HOPES THAT YOU WILL TUMBLE OFF THE STAGE AND DIE.
    GT: Might you actually be thinking about tomatoes?
    uu: NO. I MEAN APPLES.
    uu: TOMATOES ARE GROSS SQUISHY WANNABE FRUITS THAT BURST UNDER THE TINIEST BIT OF PRESSURE BECAUSE THEY ARE WEAK.
    uu: APPLES ARE RESILIENT AND CAUSE PAIN UPON IMPACT.
    uu: THEY ARE ALSO FILLED WITH SUGAR WHICH IS THE PRIMARY COMPONENT OF CANDY.
    uu: CLEARLY THEY ARE THE SUPERIOR EDIBLE PROJECTILE OF CHOICE.
    GT: But tomatoes ARE fruits!
    uu: WHAT.
    uu: LIES.
    GT: At least im pretty sure they are.
    GT: I think its because they have seeds?
    uu: YOU IDIOT.
    uu: YOU VACUOUS FUCK.
    uu: THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU JUST SAID.
    uu: THERE ARE VEGETABLES THAT ALSO HAVE SEEDS. SUCH AS PUMPKINS AND OTHER SUCH HORRID SQUASHES.
    GT: But i think that just suggests those are fruits too.
    uu: HOW IS YOUR SKULL THIS INCOMPREHENSIBLY DENSE. I CAN FEEL MY IQ DROP A LITTLE FURTHER EVERY TIME WE TALK.
    uu: IT’S LIKE A REPETITIVE NIGHTMARE.
    GT: If its so diddlydarned awful for you why do you keep yammering at me?
    uu: WHAT?
    uu: OH. YOU MADE ME FORGET WHY I WAS JEERING YOU IN THE FIRST PLACE WITH YOUR IDIOCY.
    GT: Is this about the pumpkin you sent?
    uu: YES.
    uu: AND HOW YOU REJECTED IT LIKE A CHURLISH ASSHOLE.
    uu: WHAT THE FUCK JAKE.
    GT: What? No i didnt!
    GT: You rigged the dadblasted thing to explode!
    uu: DON’T TRY TO FOOL ME WITH YOUR MINDGAMES AGAIN ENGLISH.
    uu: WE ALREADY ESTABLISHED THAT YOU SUCK AT THEM.
    uu: IF ANYONE CAUSED IT TO EXPLODE IT WAS YOU.
    uu: I DON’T KNOW WHAT BULLSHIT YOU PULLED WITH YOUR SHITTY HOPE POWERS OR WHATEVER. BUT DON’T THINK FOR A SECOND THAT I’LL BE LETTING THIS SLIDE.
    GT: But i didnt pull anything!
    GT: I cant even crack the fuzziness of that memory enough to recall what happened past stumbling upon your stupid present in the first place!
    uu: WHETHER YOU ACCEPT RESPONSIBILITY FOR FOOLISHLY SNUBBING MY GENEROSITY OR NOT. IT NO LONGER MATTERS.
    uu: THIS PETTY INSULT HAS GRANTED YOU A PRIME ENTRY AT THE TOP OF MY SHITLIST.
    GT: Oh hells bells! Whatever am i to do?!
    uu: YES. THE BELLS OF HELL HAVE BEEN RUNG.
    GT: Just kidding. I dont care.
    uu: OH.
    uu: WELL THAT ONLY PROVES HOW STUPID YOU ARE.
    uu: YOU DON’T SEEM TO GRASP THE CHALLENGE YOU’VE INVITED WITH YOUR INJUDICIOUS ACTIONS.
    GT: I thought you and i were fated to tussle no matter what?
    GT: So what? This means youre gonna go out of your way to seek me out for scrums sooner?
    GT: Gotta say im not exactly quivering in my page undies here.
    uu: IF YOU HAD ANY REAL INTELLIGENCE YOU WOULD BE.
    uu: I KNOW I SENSED THE SLIGHT YOU’VE MADE AGAINST ME. JUST AS I KNOW I WON’T STAND TO BE SCORNED BY A PRISSY PAGE WHO LACKS THE SENSE TO WEAR LESS OFFENSIVE CLOTHING.
    uu: I’LL BE COMING FOR YOU JAKE.
    uu: AND WHEN I ARRIVE THERE WILL BE NOWHERE TO HIDE.
    uu: YOU CAN’T ESCAPE ME.
    GT: Well its a good thing i dont plan on hiding then.
    uu: SPOKEN LIKE A TRUE IMBECILE.
    uu: I AM GOING TO THOROUGHLY ENJOY WATCHING YOU SUFFER.
    undyingUmbrage [uu] ceased jeering golgothasTerror [GT]
    
    
    
     
              You should probably feel a bit more concerned over uu’s very obvious threats, but you’re going to chalk it up to still being disoriented from being knocked out for half a day. You’ll reflect on it later. Right now, you just want to enjoy the serenity of your current vantage point and not have to think for a little bit.
    
              You’re not sure how long you sit up there, gazing at the fireflies, absorbing the landscape, squinting at some lines in the sky you can’t seem to make out, when you’re alerted to a faint scuffling behind you. Two voices exchange in hushed tones from the stairwell, prompting you to twist and lean so you can hear them better. You should probably drop and sneak back in somewhere since nobody’s supposed to know that you’re awake yet, but curiosity gets the better of you. One of them is also just really bad at whispering anyway.
    
              “—a ghost, do you?”
    
              “What? How the fuck would a ghost just appear here? Of all the hypotheses that could’ve endowed your shriveled think pan, that’s—mmph!”
    
              “Shh! I think... I think it’s... Grandpa Egbert. Holy shit. When did he wake up?”
    
              “Mmph—what?!”
    
              “Fuck. What’s his name again?”
    
              “Jake,” you assert before you can stop yourself, effectively silencing your anonymous company. You awkwardly sit there and wait for them to reveal themselves, and when they don’t, you just as awkwardly mutter, “It’s uh, Jake English. That’s... my name.”
    
              “...I think he heard us.”
    
              “No shit, Strider.”
    
              You stiffen at that. One of them sounds a bit like Dirk, but he’s evidently having trouble remembering your name so it can’t be him. There’s a bit of shuffling, then a silhouette appears at the top of the stairs. He approaches until he’s illuminated by the light of Skaia. Grey skin, small orange horns, pointed teeth. A troll, you guess? You’ve never seen one in the flesh before.
    
              “Good evening, chap. I don’t believe we’ve met,” you greet much more confidently than you feel. You twist a bit so you can offer him your hand, which you’re glad to see him shake without much reservation.
    
              “Karkat Vantas,” he provides, somewhat stiffly. He has yet to release his grip when he abruptly turns and shouts over his shoulder, “Strider, get your pajama-toting ass out here before I shit enough build units to erect a statue in honor of your pusillanimity!”
    
              Obediently, another silhouette appears to join you in the low light. He looks a lot like Dirk, if your bro sported tamer hair and aviators instead of those ridiculous looking anime shades.
    
              “I know you’re bitter that you missed out on your own magical PJs, but you gotta let it go, man. Let yourself heal,” he says smoothly, like he wasn’t just trying to hide after his obvious discovery. Lord, he honestly sounds _just_ like Dirk, voice several octaves higher.
    
              Karkat’s grip loosens so you can shake the other’s hand.
    
              “I’m Dave,” he states. “Sorry I forgot your name.”
    
              “All good, lad. I do believe this is the first we’ve met, after all!” you dismiss cheerfully, then you turn back to the scenery before you.
    
              “Anyone else know you’re awake?” asks Dave. You shake your head. “Just Roxy. I decided the rest could wait until the morrow, so I hope you won’t mind keeping this a secret between the three of us, eh?”
    
              “My lips are sealed, bro. Though I can’t say much for shouty here.”
    
              “Oh, har har! As implausible as you think it might be, I am actually capable of keeping shit to myself! I’m loud, not gossipy.”
    
              “What? Dude. You are totally gossipy. At least with me and the Mayor, you are.”
    
              “Well obviously that’s fucking different!”
    
              You kind of zone out of their squabbling here for a minute or two until Dave hops up to take a seat next to you. Startled, you bristle again when Karkat does the same to Dave’s left.
    
              “O-Oh! Fancy watching the sky with me then?” you stutter lamely, hoping you don’t sound as nervous or perplexed as you are.
    
              Dave observes you with an expression you’re only able to label as mildly concerned due to all the time you spent picking apart Dirk’s minute nuances. “Yeah, you got a pretty good seat up here. Hope you don’t mind us helping ourselves to your chill. Don’t wanna intrude if you were like... getting up in your introspections and whatnot. It’s cool if you want us to leave.”
    
              In truth, a part of you would rather be alone, but you’d feel guilty for voicing it, so instead you shake your head again. “Not at all! You two seem like fine company.”
    
              Dave smiles back, though you think it might be more amused than anything. “Thanks, dude. You’re mighty pleasant yourself.”
    
              “I wager you couldn’t sleep then?” you query, curiosity getting the better of you.
    
              “Rest assured, we took plenty of hefty naps on the meteor before we got here,” he answers cleanly. Without much pause, he shoots a question right back. “What about you? You’re not... cold?”
    
              Both he and Karkat look pointedly at your unclothed legs. You follow their gazes, suddenly feeling uncomfortably bare. You had somehow forgotten you were dressed like... this.
    
              “Ah... Erm... Yes, a little bit,” you admit quietly. “Can’t say I’m too fond of the Page gear. It’s a bit... lacking.”
    
              “Uh, yeah. I don’t wanna be an ass but... _Damn_,” Dave murmurs. Their stares are beginning to border on shameless, not that you can blame them. You feel like you’ve been put on sexy display. Shorts are fun, but this?? You’re just running around in a pair of yellow knickers now, which is scandalous even by your standards.
    
              “Not tryin’ to say it’s offensive or anything, but you’re makin’ me all self-conscious here with them smooth as fuck thighs. Hell, I might even hop on this wagon of shaved legs because this some Michelangelo lookin’ shit right here.”
    
              You honestly can’t tell if he’s messing with you, hitting on you, or just... being a Strider. It’s more than likely the latter.
    
              “Yeah, that’s...” Karkat stares some more as he agrees. “Those sure are...” He stops, shrugs, shakes his head. “Nope. I got nothing. You’ve got fuckin’ pretty legs, English. That’s all there is to it.”
    
              You don’t answer, mostly because you’re not sure how to take this strange set of compliments. It only takes Dave a second to pick up on the awkward.
    
              “Shit. We made you uncomfortable.”
    
              “Oh! No, no! It’s quite alright,” you pipe up quickly to let them know they haven’t done anything wrong. “I’m flattered honestly, it’s just that... an actual pair of trousers or something would really razz my berries right about now.”
    
              Neither of them answers immediately, until—
    
              “Pfft!”
    
              You look up to see Dave covering his mouth and coughing, evidently stifling a guffaw of some sort, but you don’t know how—... oh. Land sakes alive, you didn’t _mean_...
    
              “Yes, we can all agree that we prefer our berries to be thoroughly razzed,” Karkat chimes as he seemingly ignores Dave’s growing snorts between you. “That being said, if we happen upon an unused, untainted article of more suitable bulge cloth, you can trust that you’ll be the first to know. I think we’ll all benefit from procuring textile insurance that this man’s shame globes are secured exactly where they should be because the last thing we need is to have our lookstubs flailing while we’re all flying around trying not to get our asses served.”
    
              “I...” You... don’t know how to answer this. “Yes. Thanks, chap.”
    
              Dave manages to regain his bearing finally. “Yeah, ditto. We’ll make a comedic miniseries out of it: Brotherhood of Jake’s Missing Pants. I can practically smell all the teenage tears destined to be elicited by our hormonal soul journey.”
    
              “You just said this was a comedy,” Karkat interjects.
    
              “Can’t have a hormonal soul journey without some hurt/comfort, dude. That’s like... hormonal soul journey 101.”
    
              “The fellow’s not wrong,” you agree.
    
              The troll seems to take a moment to think this over. “Alright. Yeah, okay. I guess I can’t argue with that,” he concedes.
    
              The three of you fall into another silence, one so long that you finally relax in their presence somewhat. You wonder if the equivalent of daylight ever occurs on John’s planet, but you doubt it. It’s not like it ever graced your planet, or any of your friends’ planets for that matter. Dirk once shared a theory of his that the planets’ respective atmospheres refracted the light given off by Skaia in different ways, further manipulated by the unique mixture of gases in each planet’s sky. It was one of many explanations that fascinated you. Unfortunately, he had imparted countless others that did little more than make you wish he’d put a leash on his ego at the time.
    
              Now... You miss it.
    
              Hearing him talk.
    
              “Hey, Jake.”
    
              When you turn, the first thing you notice is Dave looking at you. The second thing you notice is Karkat slumped against his side, head pressed against his shoulder. Is he sleeping? You’re not sure how anyone could sleep perched so insecurely on the edge of a balcony, but you think his buddy might be doing exactly that. He has Dave to steady him you suppose, and the boy doesn’t appear to be the least bit burdened by it.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              You’ve only just met them, but their relationship is sweet, you think.
    
              “What’s on your mind, chum?”
    
              You watch him swish his jaw back and forth, like he’s rolling around what he wants to say over his tongue to be certain it comes out right.
    
              “This might cross into some territory you’d rather I leave courteously uncharted, so feel free to tell me to fuck off or something if I’m treading into a field of highly personal mines, but...”
    
              Your gaze slowly drops from his, then away. It’s only because this was already so freshly in your mind that you have an immediate good guess as to where this is going. If you didn’t know any better, you’d suspect him to be a mind reader of some sort. You can’t imagine another topic that would have him sound so solemn though. Dave seems to sense your distress because he hesitates in finishing. Against every fiber in your body that normally warns you this may turn into something unpleasant, that this is a discussion you’d rather do everything you can to avoid because that’s just how you roll, you don’t want to be a coward anymore.
    
              This could be your first step.
    
              “Go ahead, chap,” you urge gently. “I don’t mind.” At least, you’re currently telling yourself that you don’t.
    
              He exhales.
    
              “What happened between you and my bro?”
    
              You breathe deeply.
    
              “Can you be more specific?” you request, mostly to borrow time.
    
              “Well,” Dave’s eyes don’t leave you as he expounds, “For one, he seems to think you want nothing to do with him.”
    
              “I’d say color me shocked, but considering my yemeles treatment of him before we ascended, I’d be more bamboozled if he felt any differently,” you confess. Hunching forward, you prop your elbows on your knees as if to distance yourself from the discussion. It helps to calm your nerves, if anything. You prepare yourself to continue.
    
              You’re not sure if you can.
    
              He doesn’t press you even when you remain silent for a bit, and mostly out of admiration for his patience, you’re able to find your voice. “...You sure you want to open this particular can of worms, mate?”
    
              “I got an attentive ear and nothing but time.”
    
              You don’t say anything at first, then you apologize, “Sorry if it seems like I wouldn’t say boo to a goose. It’s just that I might’ve lost another friendship due to needlessly imparting my gratuitous grievances regarding one such Strider and that thought has me hesitant to do the same here.”
    
              Dave gives you a small smile of reassurance. “Trust me, you can count that as something you and I can bond over.”
    
              You give him a funny look because you’re not altogether sure what he means by that. Is he referring to the Dirk from his universe? Your Dirk would’ve only met him hours ago, so that must be the case. You’re interested in hearing about this alternate Dirk sometime.
    
              “I’ll bear that in mind.” A few more seconds of quiet tick by, but you have the courage to continue this time. “I suppose I should supply some context for what I mentioned earlier.
    
              “In a word, Dirk is... intense. When we first met in the session, I actually had the cheek to ponder whether he’d be able to keep up with me, but I quickly learned our roles to be the contrary. Hilariously so, in fact. I was fully aware that he was a genius, but Dirk carries with him a prodigious competence that one might fail to notice until they’re sucked into the vacuum of his unbridled talent. There wasn’t a moment I didn’t feel dwarfed just being near him, literally and figuratively.”
    
              You chuckle.
    
              “Not to say that was the main issue. Lordy, how unsportsmanlike would that be if I’d reacted the way I did just for some hobbledehoy that made me feel I wasn’t up to snuff?” you backpedal, shooting Dave an incredulous look at your own silly words.
    
              “Oh, you’d give desk jockeys a run for their money, I’m sure.” You didn’t truly expect him to humor you, but you appreciate it nonetheless. He carefully adjusts, visibly does his best not to jostle the troll currently using him as a headrest, then he says, “So we covered he’s a rad as fuck dude. If you didn’t come down with a bad case of comparative mediocrity, what made you start steering clear?”
    
              You study the Void above you thoughtfully. “You see, I felt a oneness with the old boy due to our similar value of independence, enjoying our quiet spaces, growing up in our respective solitudes and whatnot. Which had me flummoxed to see how... uhm... _keen_ he was to...” You swallow, lost in your own explanation. “Well, he seemed to have a sort of fixation on... spending time with me, I suppose?”
    
              “So he was clingy,” the blond infers.
    
              You realize you’d actually been avoiding using that word. You didn’t want to put it that way, even though that’s exactly what it was.
    
              “Yes.” You give a solemn nod. “At first, the feeling was perfectly mutual. It was the first time I’d gotten to hang out with my best bud in the flesh, for Christ’s sake! So you bet your studded leather chaps, I wanted to watch movies and go on bloody adventures and other some such hijinks! And let me just say, those first couple months were absolutely riveting! By Jove, I couldn’t have orchestrated better.”
    
              “You gotta give me the lowdown sometime,” says Dave.
    
              “Just name the time and place, chap,” you reply with your trademark wink and finger guns. And just like with Dirk, this action is enough to break his cool Strider façade. He purses his lips, scrunches up his face, and furrows his eyebrows in an obvious effort not to laugh. You wonder if part of it is that he doesn’t want to wake his snoozing companion.
    
              “Sure thing,” he answers finally. His bearing is back under control. “But don’t leave me hanging, dude. Can’t spare a detail when you got me teetering on the edge of a rickety rail hard at work putting a dent in my ass.”
    
              “Ah, right-o. Where was I then...?” You swing your legs while you remember. “Oh, how it all turned sour then. Yes, so. I reckon the turmoil that soon sprouted between us grew from a mixture of things. As I said, Dirk was already intense. I’m not altogether privy to what triggered it, but at some point, “overwhelming” evolved into “overbearing”. I say, every day became a ruddy agenda!”
    
              Jesus, you’re frustrated just thinking about it!
    
              “If he thought we should do something, we did it. If I wanted to do something he didn’t agree with, we did something else. Day in and day out, the man damn near ran me ragged with his directives and his lectures. Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t mind that he took the helm, but rather than a partner, I felt like a bloody peon! It’s like my movements weren’t ever my own, like he had fastened strings to my body without my notice. It began to make sense why he fancied puppets so much. Good grief!” you scoff, temper flaring from your own reminiscence. “And don’t even get me started on the Dirk-splaining! Ugh! That was a nightmare in itself!”
    
              You’re getting too worked up. If your volume climbs any higher, someone in the house is bound to wake up and hear you, and you’re supposed to be laying low right now. Also, you’re being awfully rude while Karkat is trying to sleep. You take a moment to calm yourself down.
    
              Dave’s been a real sport through your tirade; he didn’t even shush you for being too loud. In fact, the expression on his face might actually be honest sympathy. He says nothing in the quiet though, like he knows you have more to say and genuinely wants you to finish. He’s a gallant fellow.
    
              Your frustration drains only to be replaced with remorse for talking shit about one of your best friends like this. But you’re committed now. You gotta ride this train until the end.
    
               In a much softer tone, you continue while your hands curl into fists, “Maybe I wasn’t being completely honest earlier, since the most frustrating thing about all of that was that I couldn’t find a good enough reason to argue any of it, not that I would’ve wanted to even if I had. I knew in my heart that Dirk controlled everything because we both knew he was just _better_ at everything than me, but it’s difficult to play second fiddle to a man whose competence isn’t specialized.1 So at the end of the day, I guess the worst part of it all was the way he made me feel about myself. I’m sure he never meant for it, but his antics made me realize that I’m not a super confident dude. Not only did I always feel like a right pillock, but he thickly basted so much of what he did and said in his silly layers of irony and psych-outs that I kept getting jerked around until I was regularly falling flat on my face. It’s like he would reel me in and then pull away at the last second just to show me how slippery my grip was. And every single time, I felt even more like a raging knobhead because I kept falling for it!
    
              “And after months of being nitpicked and smothered while believing myself to be just all around inadequate, I guess I just... had enough.”
    
              You rub the back of your neck tiredly, feeling somewhat immature.
    
              “I don’t know. Maybe that makes it seem like I merely have a petty inferiority complex, and honestly? Maybe I do. All I know is that I proceeded to do the shittiest thing anyone could’ve done by dodging him, because it’s not like he ever did anything to warrant that kind of treatment. Dirk may be authoritative, if not a smidgeon pretentious, but never has he been unkind. Detached, perhaps, but not callous.” You sigh. “Unlike me, who apparently finds nary a problem with being insensitive if it benefits my own comfort. I used to tote around how gloriously brave I foolishly thought myself to be, yet there I was, wallowing in my namby-pamby bullshit, too scared to even just _message_ my best bro and tell him I needed time to myself. You’d think after six months of dating, I would’ve at least been able to afford the poor bloke that courtesy...”
    
              “Whoa, back up.”
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              You face Dave again, blinking owlishly.
    
              “...Dating? Dating _who_? My bro?” he shoots off too hurriedly. It’s difficult to tell, but you think you see his eyes widen to impressive proportions behind those sunglasses.
    
              “I...” You glance away, glance back, raise an eyebrow. “Yes?” Blink a second time. “Did I... Did I not mention that?”
    
              Dave is silent.
    
              He’s silent for quite a while actually.
    
              You think... You think you might’ve broken him.
    
              “...Dave?”
    
              He holds up his hand to stop you, faces away.
    
              After what might be a full minute, he faces back.
    
              “You’re a dude,” he affirms matter-of-factly.
    
              “...I am.”
    
              “You dated my bro.”
    
              “In a manner, yes. I suppose I did.”
    
              “Dirk was your... boyfriend?” Dave trails off weakly. You can see his world crumbling apart and being hastily put back together, quite frankly.
    
              You regard him with caution. “Does that... make you uncomfortable?”
    
              “Uh, yeah. Wait. I mean, no. No, I...”
    
              It’s your turn to be patient now.
    
              “I’m... realizing some things. Just give me a minute to process.”
    
              “Oh,” you say. “Okay.”
    
              Both of you direct your sights back out in silence. You allow yourself to fall into a daydream that has you dazed. You’re not certain how long you sit like that, but it feels like you’ve taken a lengthy intermission by the time Dave finally speaks again.
    
              “Jake?”
    
              “Yes?”
    
              He doesn’t turn to you and you don’t turn to him.
    
              “I think... There’s a _slight_ chance... I may be the biggest idiot in the world?”
    
              “Must be a pretty small world,” you reply without really thinking about it.
    
              Dave looks at you then. “Damn,” he mumbles in awe. “That was smooth as hell.”
    
              “What?” You meet his gaze curiously. To be honest, you’re not yet entirely back to reality, you’d been perusing your thoughts so deeply.
    
              “What you just said. Fuckin’ swoon, bro. Bravo.”
    
              Oh crumbs, you’re being praised. What did you say again?
    
              “But anyway.”
    
              Nevermind, the conversation’s evidently moving without you.
    
              You watch and wait for him to continue, only to see him momentarily shake his head.
    
              “Actually, forget it. It’s not important.”
    
              You deflate a bit. The conversation’s changed direction again and damn if you didn’t just get left behind at some fork in the road.
    
              “Thanks, Jake.”
    
              Whoa, what.
    
              “Thanks?” you repeat lamely. “Why, whatever for, lad?”
    
              “I don’t know. For indulging me and talking about something that’s obviously still a sore subject? For bringing some miscellaneous facts to my attention that I may have overlooked my whole life, making me an objective dumbass?” He shrugs his unoccupied shoulder. “Hell, maybe it’s just for being easy to talk to. You’re a pretty cool guy, English. I can see why your friends are so attached to you.”
    
              “Oh...” You’re a little at a loss for words here. “Uhm... Thanks...”
    
              “Yeah, man.”
    
              You’re still absorbing what Dave just said to you when the silence is broken yet again.
    
              “You gonna patch things up then?”
    
              “Hm?” You really need to stop spacing out like this. Dave is like a conversation assassin, getting the drop on you when you least expect it.
    
              “With my bro.”
    
              You don’t answer. You don’t want to say that you’re not ready yet, that you’re less afraid that Dirk is still angry with you, and more afraid that your friendship will never be what it was before because he knows you now—the real you.
    
              “I don’t know,” comes out too vague. Dave will probably take it that you don’t know if you want to when in reality you mean you don’t know if you can.
    
              “...He really cares about you, you know.”
    
              “I know.”
    
              “Do you still like him?”
    
              “Of course, I do!”
    
              “You know what I mean, Jake.” The boy has had one conversation with you and he can already sniff out your bullshit.
    
              “I...”
    
              Your company sighs, heavy and grim.
    
              “Sorry. You don’t have to answer. It ain’t cool of me to put you on the spot after all that. Maybe it’s stupid because I just met you guys and what goes on between you is none of my business, but you got me all worried over here. You’re good people, but _god damn_, I thought my dumb group was full of hot messes,” he muses in disbelief.
    
              Despite yourself, you guffaw. “Is it that obvious?”
    
              Dave does his best to stretch one side of him, speaking through his yawn, “Are you kidding? The tension between all of you is palpable as fuck. Cut that shit up into bite size squares and you’d have yourself a snack platter of teenage angst where one piece is enough to OD.”
    
              You glance down at the hands wringing in your lap. “Well we can’t have that, can we?”
    
              You think you need to take a walk, clear your head a little.
    

> [Jake: Take a walk.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/59148676#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Dave's relationship in "dubious" canon makes me sad honestly. Dave seemed so much more on board to be bros with him when they were sixteen, not to mention he thought his pre-scratch self was a giant badass.
> 
> I'm BIAS, AIGHT? I JUST WANT EVERYONE TO LOVE JAKE AS MUCH AS I DO. FUCKINNNNNN' SUE ME.
> 
> Note(s):  
1) This is actually a shoutout to a really good [DirkJake fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3225782) I read a while back. It's a little bitter but DirkJake is hardly sunshine and rainbows.


	24. Jake: Take a walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fuckin' late. I have no convenient excuse this time. RIP me.
> 
> Btw, I wanna thank everyone for leaving so many lovely comments while following along. I'm pretty bad about replying but I fuckin' gush like a gay baby every time I get an email telling me someone commented. Y'all the real MVPs <3
    
    
              You gave Dave a right scare when you dropped off the balcony without warning, but then you were hovering, and he chided you for making him nearly wake up Karkat. You apologized with a grin, didn’t miss the way Dave’s pinky finger was affectionately curled over a pale gray one atop the rail, and urged him to take his friend to bed while you explored a bit. He yawned again and waved you away, flippantly advising you to not get caught up in another mysterious explosion. You told him you’d do your best.
    
              You’re a ways away from the village now, having walked for lord knows how long. A couple salamanders that took notice of you seemed ecstatic to see you walking around when you’d initially left, and happily accompanied you until you reached the outskirts. You’ve reached another basin now, empty and stained in faded black, just like all the other ones you’ve seen so far. Each one smells like oil, but you have yet to see a single drop anywhere. As your mind wanders, you briefly wonder what John’s quest entailed for the aftereffects to be so obvious while the fireflies clumsily bump into you every now and then.
    
              The trek is peaceful.
    
              Or at least, it would be.
    
              “You could at least say something if you’re gonna be so persistent shadowing me everywhere like some hellish angel of death,” you growl over your shoulder.
    
              You can’t see it, but you know he’s shrugging.
    
              “Didn’t wanna ruin your good time,” he says coolly.
    
              “What horseshit,” you remark. You refuse to look at him, not like that makes a difference. “Well go on, then. Hit me with your droll reprimands and such about whatever I’m clearly being daft about. That’s your job, isn’t it?”
    
              “What makes you think that’s what I’m here for?”
    
              “Because that’s what the real Dirk would do,” you throw back, staring hard at the deepest spot of the empty pit at your feet. “You’re supposed to be a startlingly close approximation, aren’t you?”
    
              He’s beside you now. You still don’t look at him.
    
              “Though true, the fact that you expect me to reprimand you only means you know there’s something for you to be reprimanded for. In which case, is there really a point in your own brain reprimanding you when you already acknowledge that same something is worth reprimand?”
    
              You snort. “God, you might as well be the real thing. You’re every bit as insufferable with your convoluted double-flipped logic blather.”
    
              “I’m every bit as insufferable as you imagine me to be. I’m a projection of your own mind, dude. Or did you forget yet again?” he asks, knowing full well you didn’t.
    
              You finally look at him. “If you’re not here to lecture me, then what _are_ you here for? It’s certainly not to make me feel better after...”
    
              “After what?” he prompts without missing a beat. “After you thoroughly trashed me to my own brother, complaining about all the shit you were never brave enough to say to my face?”
    
              “Now see here, he asked me a personal question, and I thought it’d do him right to give an honest answer! Perhaps I flew off the handle a bit, but I never intended to paint you in a poor light,” you argue, but you already know it’s too weak to give you much ground. Unsurprisingly, Brain Ghost Dirk shakes his head and looks out over the basin. “So you think I’m here because you feel guilty about it?”
    
              “Uhm...”
    
              “What if I’m here because you just wanted to see me?”
    
              “Balderdash,” you scoff, grudgingly snapping your attention to follow his. “Why would I want to see you?”
    
              “Him,” he corrects. “The real Dirk.”
    
              You don’t answer, but you can feel his unwelcome ghostly gaze returning to burn holes into the side of your head.
    
              “Have you considered that might just be the real reason I ever pop up? It’s not like I stick around because it’s free real estate, bro. You _want_ me here.”
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              You hate that those words hit you like a train.
    
              You hate that he’s right, that in some roundabout way, you’re really only telling yourself this, but the truth has to be said with his voice.
    
              So, you start walking away.
    
              Predictably, Brain Ghost Dirk trails behind you, exactly as he’s been doing ever since you left the village. It’s almost dutiful how he keeps the same pace and doesn’t close the distance, giving you the space he knows you need because he’s also you. He’s not so quiet as he was earlier, however.
    
              “Do you even know where you are?” he prods. You may not know exactly where, but he knows you’re more than capable of finding your way back.
    
              “Does it matter?” you retort.
    
              Another shrug you don’t see. “Not really. I guess the real question is do you know how long you’ve been out here?”
    
              “No,” comes your blunt reply.
    
              “Do you know where you’re going?”
    
              “Nope.”
    
              “Jake.”
    
              “...”
    
              “_Jake._”
    
              “_What?_”
    
              Your pace has more than doubled, climbing ridges and ducking under dead branches, cursing how impractical your god tier outfit is when it rides up and you have to pick at it awkwardly. Karkat made a good point earlier about needing to keep your junk in place. You know you’d be able to avoid all this if you chose to fly instead, but you have a desperate need to stretch your legs after laying in bed for supposedly twelve straight hours.
    
              “Don’t think it’s not obvious what you’re doing right now,” Brain Ghost Dirk warns from behind. You’re surprised he’s kept to the ground too, climbing about and everything.
    
              “Haven’t the faintest clue what you’re on about, mate,” you lie.
    
              He continues as though you never answered. “You know, you were on a roll there for a bit. I was impressed. You actually manned up and talked out some stuff with Roxy. Hell, the fact that you opened up to Dave is a miracle in and of itself. The old you never would’ve sucked it up and broached either of those touchy subjects. So where’d all that bravery go?”
    
              You jump over an empty stream and slide down the ridge on the other side. This brings you to a tall cliffside that you decide isn’t too steep for you to climb. “Now let’s not put all our bread in this post affair basket, lad. I shot the bull with Jane about my personal trifles just as well,” you defend without looking back as you haul yourself up.
    
              “Oh sure. All those messages where you victimized yourself and not once did you think you might possibly be doing a shit job at carrying your end of that ultimately toxic relationship? Not to mention poor Jane having to hear all about your failing love life while still harboring feelings for yours truly. Talk about cold, bro,” he counters all too smoothly. You throw him a glance this time. “So she _did_ have feelings for you then?”
    
              “What?” Brain Ghost Dirk hesitates in his climbing after you to be baffled. You suppose it’s not all that infrequent an occurrence to throw your own brain off. “No. Dude. I meant _you_, obviously. You need to stop convincing yourself you don’t notice these things. Not only are you enigmatically good at believing it, but it’s gotta be like... some type of self-destruction. And I should know. You’re talking to a piece of a splintered existence.”
    
              You’re quiet for a moment.
    
              “Does he remember our conversations?” you ask suddenly. “The real Dirk, I mean?”
    
              When the other doesn’t immediately answer, you expound, “I’ve given it a thought or two, you know: how you seem to be knowledgeable of his whereabouts when we talk. You drone on about my savvy in things because of some untapped potential, but there are some things you tell me that I’m positive I’d have no way of knowing _unless_ you told me. How in blazes does that work if you’re only supposed to be a projection of my boggled wits?”
    
              You’ve almost reached the top of the cliff when he finally responds, “To be honest, it’s unclear for me too. I don’t think it’s anything crazy like I’m some little antenna that he has to see and hear your thoughts, so you don’t have to worry about that. But from what I can tell, we still share some kind of signal? A fucked up signal with all kinds of static, but it’s enough for me to get an inkling of where he is and what he’s doing. Hell, I think it’s clearer on my end than on his.”
    
              One of the ledges you place your foot on crumbles and you slip with a yelp, bracing yourself against the rock.
    
              “Whoa! Careful, man! You okay?”
    
              “Yes! Yes! Not to worry!” you squeak, scrambling up and over the top of the cliff much faster than necessary. Brain Ghost Dirk joins you while you’re still dusting yourself off. “Not like you were ever in any real danger due to recent developments, but still.”
    
              You’re off again before he’s even finished talking. He rushes to trot after you.
    
              “Hey, Jake! C’mon!”
    
              Your legs are beginning to tense up from the strain while you stride up the next hill, but you don’t care. Your brain phantom following you around stresses you out to begin with but knowing you and Dirk truly share some strange mind link only stresses you out more.
    
              “Look. Just listen,” he urges. “There’s nowhere to escape out here. Walking away from your problems isn’t going to work this time because you’re gonna have to go back sooner or later, or they’re gonna break out the hunting dogs and come find you. And it probably won’t take them long either. You’re like a little dab of mustard on the bright blue plate of You Missed a Spot. Who the hell washed these dishes? Please call them in here so we can talk about their eyesight because this shit is unacceptable.”
    
              You slow to a stop as the terrain plateaus out. Brain Ghost Dirk comes to a halt to your left while you sigh dejectedly.
    
              “I thought you weren’t here to give me a lecture,” you muse, eyeing him warily.
    
              He smirks at you. “Oh, I was totally always here to give you a lecture.”
    
              You roll your eyes, but ultimately yield, “Okay, you made your point.”
    
              “But also because you wanted to see me, not like that was ever actually a mystery to you,” he adds. His small smile is knowing and you both hate and love how offputtingly authentic he is. You open your mouth to counter when your Sylladex rumbles, causing you and Brain Ghost Dirk to exchange glances.
    
              Uh oh.
    
              You de-captcha your phone and hesitate only a little before opening the Pesterchum client.
    
    
    
    
    tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering golgothasTerror [GT] 
    
    
    TG: j
    TG: uh
    TG: u prolly wanna stop hidin b4 janey has an aneurism.
    TG: where u @ boi?
    TG: i said you could xplore the house not fall into the void
    GT: Im here.
    GT: Well. Not *there*. At the house.
    GT: But here to answer your messages.
    TG: oh jesus j you scared the shit outta me
    TG: where tf r u?
    TG: jane woke up early 2 cook breakfast n went 2 check on u
    TG: ofc wen you werent in bed she flipped her shit.
    TG: came runnin to my bedroom to wake me up all freakin tf out
    GT: Oh poor Jane! I didnt mean to give her a fright.
    GT: I just went out for a spell. I didnt realize so much time had passed already!
    GT: Its tough to gauge when theres no sunrise and our gadgets dont tell time anymore.
    GT: Ill be there in a jiff!
    TG: plz jiff it up
    TG: i convinced her not to go get dirk bcuz hed prolly flip the whole gd bldg if he knew u were missin
    TG: but she bouta send out a search prty if u dont show up soon.
    TG: hell i dont blame her.
    TG: y u runnin off again after what happened yestrday??
    TG: we already freakin out bout u u gotta think about these things jakey
    GT: I know. Im sorry. Im a fudgin nincompoop!
    TG: hehe poop^2 the max
    TG: but ur our nincompoop
    TG: <3
    GT: <3!!
    TG: oh shittt
    TG: janes bout 2 do stuff
    TG: g2g see u when u get here!
    TG: dont b late!
    GT: Roger that!
    GT: *salutes*
    tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering golgothasTerror [GT]
    
    
    
     
              “I warned you about that search party, bro.”
    
              You give your company a blank look, but he knows exactly what he’s doing.
    
              “I told you, dog,” he says softly.
    
              You turn on your heel, hoping to leave him there.
    
              Of course, he follows.
    
              It takes a full minute of him hovering mockingly beside you to remind you that oh, you can fly, you giant doofus.
    
              With your nifty god tier powers, the village swiftly comes back in sight. As you approach, you spot Jane and Roxy just outside of it. Roxy seems to be doing her best at keeping Jane from charging off to look for you with her arms securely wrapped around her middle. Bless her soul.
    
              When you touch down, it’s a few yards away and neither of them seem to have noticed you yet. Jane is snarling something you don’t catch while your friend attempts to reassure her that you’ll be here soon. That’s when Roxy looks up and notices you, then a huge relieved grin spreads on her face as she waves.
    
              “Hi Jakey!”
    
              Instinctively, you wave back, though you falter when Jane’s eyes find you like a magnet. Her jaw drops, maybe to gasp. Then Roxy releases her and it’s like the snap of a rubber band. Jane zips toward you with zero restraint, frightening you into taking a step back as you consider jumping out of the way so she doesn’t tear through you like tissue paper. But you decide to stand your ground, and the resulting “_Doof!_” as your best friend tackles you like a football player is well worth it. To your credit, you manage to stay upright. She latches onto you as though she’s afraid you’ll vanish again if she doesn’t, understandably. Any surprise you had at this is quickly drowned out by the guilt over making her worry so much.
    
              “Er...” You look around at Brain Ghost Dirk for help only to find he’s disappeared. Scowling at his convenient absence, you make the odd gesture of going to pet the top of her head, but that seems too impersonal, so instead you ignore the inner turmoil of “she’s probably still angry with me” and return her hug while laying your cheek on her hair. “Hey there, Jane.”
    
              A couple seconds tick by, then she rips away and you’re suddenly hit on the forehead with a doohickey.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              “_Aye_ chihuahua!”
    
              “Don’t you ‘hey there, Jane’ me!” she scolds, red-faced and waving around a large equally red spoon that materialized out of nowhere. “What were you _thinking_?!”
    
              “I...” you start weakly.
    
              “You were injured and comatose for an entire day and the first thing you do when you wake up is venture off without so much as a “hello, I’m fine” and give me a heart attack?!” The admonishments are further enhanced by that oversized utensil hovering dangerously close to your head again. Roxy pads up to join you and you’re grateful because the first thing she does is lay her hand on Jane’s spoon-wielding fist and gently lower it.
    
              “Man, Janey. You tryin’ to knock him out again? He just woke up,” she jokes with a light chuckle. Unfortunately, your other friend doesn’t look amused, more like a hazardous mixture of relieved and fuming.
    
              “I just might!” she seethes, slowly lifting her spoon again and you actually take a step back with hands raised in surrender.
    
              “You’re right! I shouldn’t have left! That was thoughtless of me,” you say in a rush. You caution a glance at the spoon again and lower your hands slowly. “Forgive me, Jane.”
    
              You hope she knows you mean it.
    
              Jane purses her lips and her arm tenses and she’s definitely going to hit you again, so you squeeze your eyes shut to accept your well-deserved punishment. When nothing happens, you chance looking at her again to see she’s dropped her weapon in favor of sighing instead.
    
              She shakes her head tiredly. “What are we going to do with you, Jake?”
    
              “You should just hit him with the spoon again. That shit was funny,” Roxy suggests with a grin.
    
              “I daresay it would be deserved!” you find yourself agreeing. “I’m amazed you wanted to see me at all after all that baloney with the, uh... That stuff I did before we turned into gods.”
    
              You’re batted with the spoon again, Jane whipping her arm so quickly, you yelp more from the shock than the pain.
    
              “You think _that’s_ what I care about right now?!” she shouts in accusation, further catching you off guard. “There was a moment there that I thought you’d _died_!”
    
              “Haha, we already died like twice, Jane. Last time we died it was just to make it so we can’t die anymore unless we’re doing heroics or something, I forget,” says Roxy.
    
              “Oh hush you!” Jane snaps. Her spoon is brandished at a different target now. “Don’t act like you’re an innocent party in all of this. Why didn’t you tell anyone he woke up?!”
    
              “Oh, uh...” Roxy supplies nervously. “Funny story...”
    
              “Uhuh,” the other grunts skeptically. “I knew something was amiss the instant I told you he went missing and you didn’t seem shocked in the slightest.”
    
              “Don’t be too cross with her. I was still a bit out of sorts, and I asked her to keep a zipped lip so I could get my bearings,” you intervene, causing both girls’ gazes to fall on you. You shift uncomfortably under the attention. “Sh... She was just being a first-rate pal.”
    
              Jane visibly notices the change in your demeanor and the tension in her face gives away to resignation. The spoon disappears inside her strife deck and hands plant on her hips, after which you get the very fleeting image of your grandmother disapprovingly looking down at you as a child.
    
              “Well, I suppose I’m overreacting. The important thing is that we found you and you’re okay,” she says softly.
    
              “Oh shit.”
    
              Both of you look to Roxy, who’s currently fumbling with her phone.
    
              “I think...” she mutters, tapping around on the screen. “Uhp. Yep. There it is.”
    
              “What?” you and Jane say at once.
    
              “Dirk’s asking where we are,” she answers in a tone that sounds like she knew this was going to happen. She pins you with a hard gaze and an index finger. “Where _you_ are,” she amends teasingly, drawing a sheepish grin from you.
    
              “Oh. Whoops-a-daisy!”
    
              “Uhuh.” She shakes her head with a smirk. “No worries. I got this. I’ll go on ahead and make sure he doesn’t start tearin’ down walls and level the house. Janey, I trust you’ll make sure Mister English doesn’t run off again.” She steps back with a nod and not enough time for an answer before she flies off.
    
              “W-Wait! Roxy!” Jane calls after her, but the blonde only turns and gives a fleeting wave. Your friend puffs up at the blatant dismissal, evidently annoyed. “Shucks, that girl!”
    
              “She’s one of a kind, isn’t she?” you laugh good-naturedly. She rolls her eyes in response. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”
    
              When Jane eventually starts walking, you keep pace with her. It looks like most of the consorts are awake now when you enter the village, and many of them skitter over to you excitedly, probably even more excitedly than before. Before you can even ponder it, Jane is talking. “Looks like they’re happy to see you’re okay,” she muses.
    
              You pat a few heads as you walk by, hoping not to step on any tiny amphibian feet. “They do appear to be rather taken with me. I wonder why that is?”
    
              “I mean, you do look a fair bit like John, don’t you?” she reasons. Realization dawns on your face. “Ah, that’s it, isn’t it!? Sharp as a tack, as always, Miss Crocker.”
    
              “Naturally.”
    
              You walk together in the quiet for a bit, long enough for the guilt of everything to resurface and start tugging at you again. You glance at Jane out of the corner of your eye, but it’s a bit difficult to weigh what she’s thinking from her expression alone. As your mind wanders, you remember your discussion with Brain Ghost Dirk, and wonder if Roxy intended for you to talk things out with Jane properly when she left the pair of you alone. Clever girl.
    
              “I’m sorry,” comes out without you really thinking. She looks at you then, but you don’t have the courage to meet it. About ten seconds later, she peers ahead again.
    
              “I’m sorry too,” she replies quietly.
    
              _That_ catches you off guard. You definitely weren’t expecting an apology in return. Did you deserve one?
    
              You take a deep breath. “I know I haven’t—”
    
              “I think that’s all that’s needed for now,” Jane interrupts. You do turn to her this time, taken aback, only to feel more guilty because she looks uncomfortable. You frown. “Okay.”
    
              You must sound more dejected than intended because your response pulls another sigh from her. “I forgive you, Jake. Really. But it’s a bit too soon for me to talk about feelings. Maybe when this is all over. I’m just not ready right now, okay?” she explains. The sincerity in her voice manages to put you at ease.
    
              “Okay,” you repeat, much more confidently. “Whenever you’re ready, just say the word. I know I’ve a lot to make up for.”
    
              She tilts her head and smiles. “Of course. I’ll let you know.”
    
              You raise your fist in her direction, causing her smile to morph in surprise. It then comes to your attention that you’ve never actually prompted her for a fist bump before and that you’ve maybe only ever reserved those for Dirk, which makes you quite the scoundrel to be frank. Though your relationship with your best bro is a bit more, erm... _intense_, you love Jane and Roxy just as much.
    
              “Best mates still?” you venture, observing her cautiously.
    
              Only a moment passes before her surprise fades and she’s smiling again. The gentle rap of her knuckles against your own is enough to lift your spirits, not anywhere near to where they were before, but one day you’ll get there, one step at a time.
    
              “The best,” she says.
    
    
    
    
    

> [==>](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/59410930#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you tuning in from the tumblr updates, I think I'm slick, lmao (^:
> 
> Guess I was playing "how many alpha relationships can I repair in one go?" when I wrote all this bullshit. Just wanna make all these woobies happy yo.


	25. ==>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck it. We're officially updating on Mondays now.
    
    
              When you and Jane reach the house, you actually have to stop and take a breath first. She notices your hesitation, pauses as she reaches for the knob. Behind that door is going to be a lot that you’re uncertain you’ll be able to handle: too many people, too much energy, too much attention. The fact that you still feel far too exposed in this ridiculous costume doesn’t help matters, and to top it all off, waiting inside is your best bro and ex-paramour Dirk Strider.
    
              Or at least, he was.
    
              But now he’s here, staring at you.
    
              It takes maybe a full fifteen seconds to register the door to the house had swung open seemingly of its own accord, eager to reveal the object of your panicked internal blustering. He stares blankly at the pair of you and as a pair, you stare blankly back. Your throat tightens while remembering that the last time you actually spoke to each other had ended with him angrily breaking up with you.
    
              Roxy’s head sprouts into view over Dirk’s shoulder without warning, making you bristle. Her gaze finds yours and she looks somewhat relieved. “Eyy, right on time! I told him he just needed to wait like a second longer.”
    
              As if on cue, Dave’s head pops up over Dirk’s other shoulder, effectively triggering a second bristle. “Yo, Jake. Did you find some cool shit? You’ve been gone so long you better have explored the whole damn planet.”
    
              You’re surprised by how easily you answer, “Oh, a few things, but nothing of serious note. I mostly moseyed about on foot, so I couldn’t have journeyed much more than a stone’s throw from the village.”
    
              Dave nods in understanding, but your eyes are soon drawn back to Dirk, who seems to be trying to find words to say.
    
              “...How are you feeling?” is his eventual question. It sounds bitter, like he was searching for a different one but had to settle.
    
              You shift your weight between your feet and watch your legs as you do so as an excuse not to hold eye contact. “A bit better now that I’ve worked some spring back into these noodles,” you reply, the honesty of it successfully drowning out your anxiety. But the glance you toss back at him is sheepish as you add, “Beg your pardon for the scare. I thought I’d be back well before everyone jumped out of bed.”
    
              He’s still staring at you, expression still unreadable. He hasn’t moved an inch with his hand planted on the door.
    
              “...Right,” he responds after a minute. Then as if he’s realized how little he’s uncharacteristically said, words start to fall past his lips like a spout. “It’s fine. I get it, man. We all know by now that keeping track of time isn’t your strong suit, and it’s not like you don’t have a knack for running off without telling anybody. That’s just part of the Jake English experience package.”
    
              Oh. Ouch.
    
              Dirk comes to a hard stop after that, and if he feels any which way about the payload he just dropped aside from sincere, he doesn’t show it. What’s worse is that you don’t have anything to comment because it’s not like he’s wrong. Hell, his brain phantom version was literally _just_ berating you about doing exactly that. You fumble with your hands but it’s a piss poor distraction. No one else seems to notice the personal meaning affected to what he just said, and frankly, why would they? It’s a good thing, though. It’d be worse if they knew the whole story.
    
              “Could we perhaps move this conversation inside? I’m plumb tired and sitting down would be the bee’s knees,” Jane pipes up finally. You’re grateful for the break in tension.
    
              “Oh. Yeah,” Dirk oddly croaks while stepping aside. You try not to seem too wary of him as you follow Jane in; it certainly doesn’t help how small you feel regardless.
    
              But Dave offers you a fist bump as you walk by and Roxy tackles you with a dramatic peck to your cheek, and despite yourself, you feel better.
    
              As you thought, the room is filled with people. On one of the couches nearby sits Karkat conversing with three trolls you haven’t met yet lounging together on the couch across from him. Hovering nearby are two troll sprites that remind you of the Erisolsprite you once shared swell discussions with. He was a real trooper. You hope he’s doing okay, wherever he is.
    
              Despite her earlier grievance, Jane takes one look at the trolls in the living area and makes a beeline for the kitchen instead, muttering something about the sudden need to cook the breakfast she never got around to making. You might’ve followed her to help, if only to keep yourself distracted and out of the way, had Roxy not stopped you. You’re being steered now toward someone else, someone who looks suspiciously like Roxy.
    
              “Oh right, Jake! I finally get to introduce you,” she chirps, gesturing at the new face. “This is Rose.”
    
              “Oh er...” You do nothing but gawk awkwardly for a couple seconds, then mentally slap yourself and hold out your hand like a proper gentleman. “A pleasure to meet any family of the Lalonde variety. How do you do?”
    
              It’s hard not to squirm because it looks like she’s sizing you up, slipping her hand into yours much more slowly than you’d prefer. Her smile appears pleasant enough. “I’m well, thank you. It’s nice to see at least one of the Harleys so lively.”
    
              “English,” Roxy corrects before you even realize there’s something to correct. Her ecto-daughter nods in surprise. “Oh. I guess a Harlish then? Harley-English is a bit of a mouthful.”
    
              Then it clicks. “Oh! Is Jade here?”
    
              “Well. Yes,” says Rose thoughtfully. “She’s definitely physically here.”
    
              You raise an eyebrow at that.
    
              “Oh, is she still... uhm...”
    
              “Evil grimdark?” Dave cuts in from behind, prompting you to turn. “Nah. She’s asleep now. Probably will be ‘til the end of the game so she doesn’t get the jump on us again.”
    
              So you can’t talk to her. The thought has you deflate a bit.
    
              “Don’t wake her up!” The shout makes you jolt, attention drawn to one of the trolls settled on the couch.
    
              “No one’s talking about waking her up, Vriska. Christ,” Dave grouses. On your other side, you see Rose nod. “Indeed. You’ve made it painfully, repetitively clear that waking Jade is not a thing we should do.”
    
              The troll called Vriska seemingly ignores them when her eyes curiously roam over you instead. “Oh, your guy is back it looks like. What’s your name again? Jape?”
    
              “Uhm...”
    
              “Jake,” a multitude of voices correct, catching you off guard. “Y-Yes,” you stutter out. “Jake English, at your service.”
    
              She smirks. “You’re cute for a human, I’ll admit. At least you have that going for you.”
    
              “I... Thank you?” It sounds more like an insult, but you don’t know how else to respond.
    
              One of the other troll girls hops up from her seat to approach you, much to your panic. She rounds the other couch and only comes to a stop once she’s uncomfortably close to you, so close that you’ve leaned back a bit, and then she proceeds to take a heavy as hell whiff.
    
              What on earth...?
    
              “You smell like sweat and dirt,” she states plainly, inching in to sniff more. “And fear.”
    
              Dave leans in from the right to whisper, “Don’t worry. Terezi just does shit like this. Just let her do her thing.” At the same time, Rose leans in from the left to apprise, “She’s blind.”
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              You feel yourself seize up from the amount of foreign presence in your personal space. To your distress, Terezi only further invades said personal space. “You also smell pretty ugly honestly. The only way we can settle this is if you let me lick your face. I’ll tell you if you’re cute,” she says, reaching out to you. What?? Oh cripes. Alarm bells sound off in your head as her sharp-toothed grin draws closer. You stutter out some sounds, but nothing that resembles anything coherent. This is really happening, isn’t it?!
    
              Then you’re being tugged away from each other. You catch a glimpse of Karkat stretching over the head of the sofa to jerk Terezi back by the shoulder and feel someone similarly grip your arm so that you stumble back into something solid.
    
              “Nope. Not doing that,” Karkat declares firmly. He’d moved so quickly, it’s like he knew exactly what strange direction that exchange was going to take as soon as Terezi approached you. At the same time, you’re horrified to recognize the body you fell into to be Dirk’s. His breath tickles your ear and all of your functions practically shut down from the ludicrous awkwardness of the situation.
    
              Dirk, on the other hand, is put together enough to bite out, “Aren’t we supposed to be getting ready to fight here soon? Seems like a pretty significant conversation we probably should be having.”
    
              “Well, we already talked about who all’s going where. Since your Jack is still in prison and hasn’t been much of a threat this session, you’ll all be more than enough to face the big bads once John gets back. I guess Joke can help by fighting Robo-Jack and The Felt when they arrive, but that’s really a nonissue. Most of us are bound to be done with our battles by that time and those guys will just be here to help cool us off before we claim the prize,” Vriska explains with a wave of her hand. “He can do whatever he wants honestly, though I’d advise against letting him fight The Condesce. He’d probably only get himself killed.”
    
              Dirk’s grip on your arm tightens a little.
    
              Then the troll girl jumps to her feet, studying a strange looking watch on her wrist. “That’s really all I have to say though. Terezi and I should go ahead and head off to find that Treasure so we can confront Lord English.”
    
              “Okay, sure. And I know I’m not really any kind of authority to ask this, but how exactly are you planning to do that again without getting thoroughly fucked sideways?” asks Karkat. She shrugs. “The more critical question is how are we going to lure him to the Furthest Ring, but we can start brainstorming that once we find the Treasure.”
    
              Karkat crosses his arms and nods. “Sounds like you’ve got this down. I’m convinced this approach possesses all the appropriate anatomy that constitutes a solid plan, except for maybe strategy, insurance, answers to either of those questions, and pretty much all of the plan part. But hey, I’m probably missing something here which isn’t anything new.”
    
              “Don’t worry. You are,” is Vriska’s clean answer. “But it’s not important that you understand. You and Kanaya should probably head out too. I would take the Mayor along and drop him off somewhere safe.”
    
              You start tuning out by this time. You have no idea what anyone’s talking about anyway, simply relieved to have the room’s attention on someone other than you. The conversation continues over your head, but you’re preoccupied noticing that Dirk’s finally released your arm and stepped away so you can properly breathe again. The discussion lasts for a while longer, and you soon find yourself in the kitchen, whispering with Jane. It doesn’t take her very long to slip you a plate of pancakes she’s been cooking this whole time, and you tell her she is the loveliest thing on the planet at this moment. You almost forget the talk taking place behind you as you joke and giggle about this and that. You’ve missed chatting with her like this.
    
              Soon enough, Roxy takes a seat next to you. The gesture makes you realize Karkat is halfway out the door with two others, to go wherever it is they’re meant to go, and you throw up a languid wave you’re not sure he sees. Vriska and Terezi are already gone.
    
              You spend a fair amount of time hanging out in the kitchen with everyone left, though Dirk has somehow vanished without a trace. Roxy mentions he went back to his bedroom at some point, which you suppose is for the best. He’s evidently still hurt by everything you’ve done, if his earlier remarks were anything to go by. Nevertheless, despite your guilt, you’re able to temporarily get your mind off it when Tavrosprite engages you in pleasant conversation. ARquiusprite also joins in and though you’re somewhat annoyed by everything he says, you’re intrigued by the fate of Dirk’s Auto-Responder. Jane soon retires to her own room after some time while the rest of you migrate back to the couches. The sprites also eventually disappear somewhere. The rest of the Strilondes make for pleasant company, though Rose’s scrutinizing violet eyes still make you a tad uneasy. But despite your normal discomfort with groups of people, you find yourself relaxing.
    
              You’re not sitting around for more than half an hour when thumps sound from the stairs to the second floor. At first, you assume it’s Dirk or Jane, but you’re fairly certain their rooms are down the hall behind you.
    
              That’s when someone barks.
    
              “Rose, what the fuck.”
    
              You look around at Dave and his sibling, who shoots him a funny look.
    
              “If you’re trying to imply that it was me that just woofed, you are sorely mistaken.”
    
              “Oh. Then...?” Dave peers at Roxy instead, who only shakes her head. “Don’t look at me, bro. No woofs left these lips.”
    
              Your gaze falls back on the stairs just in time for the teenage version of your gran to come into view. The room falls silent.
    
              Her green eyes scan the area before she smiles vibrantly and waves. “Hey everyone!”
    
              “Jade? No, Jade. Bad Jade. Go back to sleep,” Dave orders immediately. It’s a bit comical that no one moves to get up even with the evident consternation on all of their faces. “How the hell did you even wake up?” His gaze drops back to Rose. “How the hell did she even wake up?”
    
              “I’m not sure. Perhaps Vriska’s sleep inducing abilities are proximity based?” she speculates. “Either way, this is an unexpected predicament, isn’t it?”
    
              Jade appears to ignore them when she suddenly asks, “Where’s John?”
    
              “John?” Rose and Dave repeat in unison.
    
              “Yeah. There’s something I have to tell him. It’s pretty urgent!” she says, making her way to the couch where you sit with Roxy perched on the arm. That’s when you apparently catch her eye and her dog ears perk up as her grin brightens. “Oh! Hi, Jake! Sorry about what happened before.”
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              She pauses, looking down. “Oh, that’s right. You’re not wearing pants now.”
    
              “Er...”
    
              Dave’s talking again before you get a chance to explain. “What do you have to tell John that’s so urgent you woke from a mind-controlled nap that was meant to keep you from gettin’ mind-controlled but only worse and awake?”
    
              Jade vaults over the far arm and plops down in the empty spot next to you with a huff. “Because he’s in danger!” she reveals exasperatedly. “The Condesce is hunting him! Or, she was using me to hunt him more specifically. But she’s still gonna be hunting him even if I’m not under her control!”
    
              “What does she need John for?” asks Roxy.
    
              “Someone tipped her off about John’s new ability to travel anywhere through space and time. I think she wants to use that to track down and kill a version of Lord English before he becomes unbeatable,” she explains.
    
              Rose raises an eyebrow. “And how did you come upon this?”
    
              “You pick up a few things as an evil henchman. It’s not like I forgot everything I heard and did while I was grimbark, hehe,” Jade chuckles, then her smile falls. She continues more seriously, “When The Condesce attacked my battleship, she was looking for John then too, but our John had already died along with his planet. Somehow, she knew there was another John around, and she wanted me to find him for her. Do any of you know where he is?”
    
              “He went off to see a friend supposedly, sometime yesterday. He hasn’t come back yet,” answers Rose. “Nor did he say exactly when he’d be back, just that he would be.”
    
              Faintly, you hear Dave mutter something like, “Whoa, what. Our John’s dead?” But at the same time, Roxy interjects, “Wait, hold up. If that’s possible, why don’t we just do that? Take English out before he can even get his shit together to hit that poor unassuming fan?”
    
              Dave shakes his head. “Hey, take it from someone who’s dicked around with time in all the wrong ways. It sounds like a good idea in theory, but you really don’t wanna mess with that. Especially not when none of us know how John’s weird time-space glitch powers even work yet.”
    
              Roxy deflates. “But I thought the only way to defeat him would be through time shenanigans?”
    
              “You got me.” Dave shrugs. “Who’s to say it wouldn’t work? All I’m saying is that it’s an easy out using a method I doubt even Egbert understands, and therefore sounds sketchy as fuck.”
    
              “I’m with Dave on this one,” Jade agrees. “Not to mention a drastic change like that might break this timeline irreparably. It’s just too risky to chance, which is why we need to make sure The Condesce doesn’t find John. It could mean the difference between this being the Alpha timeline, or a doomed one.”
    
              “_Are_ we the Alpha timeline?” asks Rose skeptically. Jade looks at her for a moment before shaking her head. “I don’t know. Nothing’s set in stone.”
    
              “On that note, can there really just be one timeline that succeeds?” Dave throws in. “Because I find that hard to believe. So what if we’re not _the_ Alpha timeline? What if we’re the Beta timeline? Or Charlie?”
    
              “Gamma,” Rose corrects. Her brother whips around to stare at her, visibly affronted. “It’s incredibly rude to call people names, Rose.”
    
              “If there’s an Alpha and a Beta timeline, then we’re following the Greek alphabet here. Therefore, Gamma would be next. Then Delta, Epsilon, and so on,” she clarifies. Almost immediately, Dave is shaking his head. “No, fuck that. We’re switching to phonetic. We’re the Charlie timeline.”
    
              “Oh, if we’re taking bets, then my money’s on Epsilon.”
    
              “God dammit, Rose. It’s pronounced ‘Echo’.”
    
              She smiles, tapping her chin in thought. “Actually, I’d like to switch my gamble to Zeta.”
    
              “I know you’re only fucking with me by going all the way to the end of the alphabet.”
    
              “That would be Omega, Dave,” Jade laughs. Roxy joins her. “Oh my gosh, how are you guys this friggin’ cute?”
    
              “That’s dumb. The Greeks were dumb. Jake, back me up.”
    
              Holy moly, you’ve been pinged by the conversation suddenly.
    
              “Oh, uh. Well I certainly never thought I'd need to study up on how their alphabet went...”
    
              Dave gestures at you triumphantly. “See? Jake thinks they’re so dumb, he’s never even considered learning their stupid alphabet. The man knows wassup. He's sorted out his priorities. He’s loyal to the Charlie timeline.”
    
              “_Anyway_,” Jade enunciates loudly enough for the room to quiet down. “You do make a good point, Dave.”
    
              “So you agree this is the Charlie timeline?” he asks hopefully.
    
              “No, dumb-dumb! I meant what you said about there not being only one timeline where we’re destined to succeed. I mean, since we've learned there are infinite routes and all these alternate selves, it’s the product of Chaos Theory if I’ve ever seen it. But even the most sensitive systems can still work if they’re flawed, right? Just because our percentage of success is small, it wouldn’t make sense for it to boil down to one single attempt. There are too many variables!” she exclaims, clearly excited by the topic. You can’t help but grin with her. There’s a vague memory of your grandma making the exact same face after making a breakthrough with one of her projects.
    
              Rose nods from the couch across from you. “It’s a fair point even considering the inimitability of our session. All the factors are present to support a winnable outcome, but the conditions are likely already destabilized due to actions we may’ve considered asinine.”
    
              “I.e. the butterfly effect,” Roxy translates.
    
              “So, if I’m following right... Our trouncing of this dadblasted discord relies on whether or not we can restabilize it?” you ask. It feels weird to pop in without being prompted, but you’ve actually been able to keep up with the conversation for once. Or at least, you think you have.
    
              If there was a weight that settled in your stomach then, it vanishes when Jade beams at you. “Yes, Jake. That’s exactly it.” If she had a tail, you suspect it’d be wagging. 
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              “The cardinal composition of this game is dependent on a paradigm of paradoxes,” Rose states pensively. “How are we to make sure those anomalies stay intact if there’s no way of identifying what they are?”
    
              “We can’t,” Jade answers simply. “We stick to fulfilling the conditions we know and hope the rest takes care of itself.”
    
              Her friend groans and drops her head back on the top of the couch. “Well that’s all just exceedingly unhelpful! It’s as though whoever designed this wretched game assiduously mishandled the spherule on player agency!”
    
              Roxy nudges you in the side. “Looks like we’re gonna need your aspect, Jakey. You gotta hope us all to victory, ‘kay?” she teases.
    
              “So what I’m hearing is that we’re all gonna die,” says Dave.
    
              Mother Scratch! Wouldn’t that just put a spud in your muffler?
    

> [Jake: Be rid of these ludibrious togs!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/59626987#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dave's right. It's the Charlie timeline.


	26. Jake: Be rid of these ludibrious togs!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It been 2 long weeks. For good fuckin' reason.
> 
> Gonna be 2 more god damn weeks before the next update because I'm goin' on vacay -- Peace~
    
    
              You’ll figure out how after you shower. That troll girl hadn’t been lying when she said you smelled like dirt and sweat, and you’d really rather not offend anyone by being repugnant. You can scarcely remember when you’d last taken one anyway and the spray of hot water feels good on your skin. You take special care cleaning all your little cracks and crevices because this could very well be your last shower and you wanna make it count. The grime in your hair is particularly built up and your face scrunches up as you scrub at it for a good five minutes.
    
              When you’re done, you’re surprised your god tier garments look and smell as though they were freshly laundered. In fact, you don’t think they were ever noticeably dirty. Dave had called them magical PJs; you suppose he’d meant they were self-cleaning. As neat as that is, you’re still reluctant to put them back on. You don’t exactly have a choice, but if you could just alchemize some new clothes...
    
              You should find Roxy.
    
              You’re still toweling your hair, glasses safely tucked away inside your inventory for the time being, when you step into the hallway. Eyes downcast, you amble on to see if she’s still hanging around the main area.
    
              You don’t account for immediately headbutting someone in the face.
    
              The impact is fortunately buffered by the fluffy towel over your head, but it should be acknowledged that you’ve grown into a pretty solid dude in the last few months and the way the stranger you assaulted stumbles back a few steps regardless only further proves that point.
    
              “Oof! Sorry, chum! Are you alright?” You squint from under your towel only to freeze. You may be damn near legally blind, but there’s no mistaking those scalene shades, now tilted askew from your recent collision. He has a hand covering his nose and mouth—probably the area you headbutted.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              “It’s fine,” Dirk says, voice muffled. He makes no move to go around you while you continue to timorously peer at him with blurry vision. You should probably get out of his way.
    
              “...Are you done in there?” he asks after some indeterminate number of seconds.
    
              You blink, almost glance over your shoulder before you realize what he means. “O-Oh, yes! It’s all yours, chap.” A pause. “Though... I think this may’ve been the only towel,” you posit, sliding it off your head. “I may be able to fetch you one from one of the other bathrooms.”
    
              If you squint, you think you might be able to see Dirk’s lips pressing firmly into a thin line now that his hand has dropped.
    
              “I can use that one,” he mutters. “If you’re done with it, I mean.”
    
              Is there... something wrong with his voice? He sounds like he did before at the front door—all... croaky and such. You hope he’s not getting sick. Then again, you remember his voice becoming like that a lot back when you were dating.
    
              “I suppose I am,” you say, handing it over to him. “Are you sure though? Because I can—”
    
              “It’s fine,” he repeats firmly. He still hasn’t fixed his shades.
    
              You almost jump when he abruptly strides past you, head bowed. You can’t help but stare after him, wondering if bidding him a good shower would be inappropriate. He practically slams the door once inside the bathroom.
    
              Oh dear, you really botched that one to high heaven, didn’t you?
    
              You stand there dumbly for around a minute before you remember your objective to talk to Roxy. She’s not in the main area when you look, nor is anyone else. She’s probably in her room then. Do you know which one’s her room? Nope. Doesn’t matter because you’re already headed back down the hall. You turn the corner past the bathroom and knock on the first door on your right. There’s some shuffling on the other side, then it swings open to reveal a blur of blonde and navy blue.
    
              “Yo, J. What’s...” Roxy trails off. Pink eyes draw upward and she snorts. “What’s up with your hair?” She cocks her hip and caresses her chin with her nose scrunched, as if trying not to laugh.
    
              You look up a little as if that will somehow let you see what she’s talking about before lightly patting at your still damp noggin. “Oh, is it bad? I did just finish toweling it off.”
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              “You look like you bathed in a hurricane,” she remarks with a grin. “Come here, jungle boy.” Despite her order, she’s the one that steps closer to you, using both hands to straighten out your dark locks. It’s the first time anyone’s ran their fingers over your scalp since your grandma passed. You’d forgotten how soothing it felt.
    
              “There we go... That’s my handsome Jake English.”
    
              Your eyes flutter open when she removes her hands. You don’t remember closing them.
    
              “So what did you need?” she asks. Plucking your glasses from your Sylladex and slipping them over your ears so you can see her properly, you take a breath. “Would you happen to know where John’s house is? If I could make use of his Alchemiter, that’d be aces,” you say. She raises her eyebrows curiously. “Really? What for?”
    
              You look away, suddenly embarrassed. “Well, to be candid... Try as I might, I just can’t get comfortable in these scanty pajamas! Not to say they don’t _feel_ comfortable, which they certainly do, but if I could just have a fine pair of shorts or something to pull over them, I wouldn’t feel so flippin’ ridiculous.”
    
              Roxy laughs, quickly covering her mouth to stifle it a bit. She doesn’t even try to be discreet when she eyes the culprit of your trifles, making you feel even more self-conscious.
    
              “Alright, I get it. You definitely drew the short stick on this one.” She nudges you once and waggles her eyebrows. “I think we still have a couple hours before we need to leave, so I’ll take you to John’s.”
    
              “Oh, you don’t need to escort me, Roxy. I would hate to be a bother while you’re busy.” She’s already waving in dismissal before you’re finished speaking. “I wasn’t doing a damn thing and I wouldn’t pass up getting to dress you up even if I was, so let’s go! I’ll shoot Jane and Dirk a text so they know where we disappeared off to this time,” she says, spinning you around so she can push you back into the hall.
    

> [==>](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/59628850#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooohhh shiit. A double update? Haven't seen one of those in 50 years.


	27. ==>


              You spend far longer at John’s then you’d intended. It was supposed to be a short fifteen minutes of captchaloguing, punching, and alchemizing. Roxy had somehow dragged out this initially simple process to forty minutes. It’s not like John’s clothes weren’t suitable to your tastes, or hers for that matter. No, Roxy was just having a hell of a time dressing you up.
    
              “Try this one next!” she orders gleefully, handing you a thick blue canvas parka with a gray cloth hood. She’s tied her hair up loosely with her eye mask ribbon; to keep it off her neck, she’d said. You’d probably burn up too if you were darting all about like she seemed to be.
    
              “Roxy, er... not that I’m not having a grand rip-snorting time parading around in John’s wardrobe with you. Oh dear, I phrased that oddly.” You frown, fumbling with the fabric. “But don’t you think we ought to be heading back now?”
    
              You were on the balcony with the Alchemiter earlier, but now you’re back in John’s room while Roxy peruses John’s coats. You now have a new black T-shirt, proudly donning your favorite skull insignia (you’ve always kept a patch in your Sylladex and it’s come in handy for alchemizing clothing more than once), some nice gray cargo shorts that draw a bit high on you, but not enough to be uncomfortable, and a pair of brown hiking boots that you think John’s dad had lying around that also appear to have hardly ever been used. It’s honestly more than enough to have you feeling infinitely better about running around now.
    
              “And these coats have been a little tight. I think we got lucky that younger John had some baggy shirts and shorts to begin with,” you reason further.
    
              “Awh! C’mon, just one more!” she pleads, slapping her hands together. “You gotta finish the Jake English look! You gotta have a jacket or something.”
    
              You sigh, knowing you won’t be able to fight her on this. “Alright. Just one more then.” But when you move to pull the jacket on, Roxy lays a hand on your arm to stop you. “Wait. Since this is your last one, I have an idea.” Then she tugs it back off.
    
              You sigh a second time, weary. “Roxy...”
    
              “Don’t give me that. Just hold on a minute!”
    
              She captchas it and bolts out the door without warning. You’re left dumbfounded by this turn of events, and eventually you wonder if you were meant to follow her when the seconds turn into minutes. Then with just as little warning, she pops her head back in. “Come on, dummy!”
    
              “O-Oh! Okay!”
    
              You follow her back to the Punch Designix where she punches two cards. The first is the parka, but the other seems to be a noticeably larger olive-green button-up.
    
              “Roxy, where did you—”
    
              “Shh, don’t worry about it,” she hushes.
    
               Then she grabs and carves three dowels at the Totem Lathe, the last being a combination of the two punch cards, before you’re back out on the balcony. She alchemizes copies of both articles of clothing so you can put the parka back in John’s room and the shirt back from wherever she got it (you’re suspicious she broke into John’s dad’s bedroom for it), then she takes the third totem and waggles her eyebrows at you. “Let’s see what this gets us,” she says before sliding it onto the mini platform.
    
              What appears is a larger hooded olive-green parka, but thinner than the original one, with a tabbed collar layered over the same gray hood, probably from the button-up. It’s nice and simple, you think. Roxy’s elongated “Yooooo!” nearly makes you jump before she exclaims, “There it is! Ho shit, I can’t believe that worked so well. I half expected it to spit out some abomination.”
    
              She wastes no time in draping it around you, helping you pull your arms through the sleeves before straightening the front. You also notice the buttons over the zipper that weren’t there before. “And let’s see,” she mutters, tugging up one sleeve to look at your left arm. “Yaaasss, it’s here!”
    
              Her cheer draws your attention to where she’s now rolling up the fabric, before fastening it with a roll-tab just above your elbow, possibly also courtesy of the button-up. She quickly switches to your other sleeve, and when she’s done, she steps back with hands on her hips, seemingly proud.
    
              “Roxy, you’ve done it again!” she preens. And honestly, she should. You don’t have a mirror, but you can tell it fits you flawlessly.
    
              “I’d say! Bloody hell, I’d daresay it’s perfect even. You are a fashion paragon, Miss Lalonde,” you compliment, admiring yourself. “I couldn’t have done better!”
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              “Awwh,” she croons softly, tilting her head. “You really love it?”
    
              You nod, giving her your best winning grin. “I love it,” you reply.
    
              You wouldn’t say the hug she gives you next is altogether unexpected, but it still takes a moment to register the sudden affection. You’ll get used to it eventually, you think. You hope. When she pulls away, she pokes you square in the chest.
    
              "Alright, stud muffin. When we get back, try not to make too many hearts stop.”
    
              In spite of your earlier complaints regarding time, the pair of you end up moving on foot after descending from John’s house. You’d done it naturally, and Roxy didn’t call you out on it. You think part of it was to draw out spending time with her alone—your best friend who you’re most comfortable around currently. She appears to be enjoying herself just as well, judging by her buoyant gait.
    
              “Thanks, Roxy,” you find yourself saying at some point. “For helping me with this. It means a lot.”
    
              “Anything for you, Jake,” she hums, gently nudging your shoulder with her own. When she steps away, she asks, “So did you talk things out with Janey earlier?”
    
              “After you so dutifully absconded this morning?” you retort with a grin. “Don’t think I wasn’t onto you, you sly fox!”
    
              She actually seems surprised by this. “Whoa, look at you, gettin’ all suspish! I see Jane’s finally rubbed off on you. I’m impressed!”
    
              “About time, eh?” you chuckle. “There may be hope for me yet.”
    
              “I believe in you. And I’m sure Jane and Dirk do too,” says Roxy, lightly rapping her knuckles against your arm. “So you and Jane? You seemed like you were getting along in the kitchen earlier.”
    
              “Well, I finally apologized to her. ...Then she pulled a fast one and apologized to me!” you say, shaking your head in disbelief. “I was gobsmacked! It’s not like anything she did was unwarranted.” You turn to your friend, wide-eyed. “I forgot her _birthday_, Roxy!”
    
              “Yeahhh, that was a pretty big dick move,” the blonde agrees. “She probably thinks she overreacted.”
    
              “I think she acted well within her means,” you say honestly.
    
              “So what about—”
    
              The pair of you stumble, thrown off by the sudden tremors beneath your feet and the dirt and dust that clouds around you. You can’t see, but Roxy clings to your arm hard enough to bruise. What in blazes just happened? It felt like something hit the ground—_something large_. You spread your stance wide in hopes it’ll keep you steady, bringing the front of your jacket up to cover your mouth. Roxy coughs into your shoulder.
    
              “W-What the hell?” she sputters.
    
              It takes a minute for the dust to settle enough for you to be able to see more than two feet from your face. The first thing you notice is how Paradox Space seems to have gone from cracked to shattered above you. The second is the strobing twenty-foot-tall sarcophagus.
    
              And the dread that spills into you when it creaks open.
    
              You’ve always been surrounded by his likeness. Ever since you were born, verdant hues and skull symbols have been ingrained in your brain. Your grandma had them everywhere, wove them into your everyday lives and anything she ever made. And you kept it all to preserve that connection with her. Because you could look at them and imagine her arms around you, and you could feel safe on the nights you were most alone. You’d adopted them as a part of you, an extension of your identity. Your preference. Your aesthetic. But no amount of exposure could ever have prepared you to see him there, looming over you with colorful billiard eyes, chest heaving, muscles twitching, and a single tooth gleaming gold.
    
              Lord English hulks before you, his shadow alone seeming to swallow you whole. His vessel morphs into a titanic overcoat that drapes over his massive shoulders, and your blood runs cold because his kaleidoscopic glare finds you then, stopping your heart. A sting prickles at the corners of your eyes because you’re afraid, you’re afraid oh god someone please...!
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              JAKE ENGLISH.
    
              His eldritch voice grips you as though he’s reached out and curled his clawed fingers through your chest. It fills your head without passing through your ears, rendering you rigid.
    
              You can’t move.
    
              He won’t let you.
    
              Someone’s shaking you. _Roxy’s_ shaking you, calling your name. You have to move. You have to move!
    
              For fuck’s sake! _MOVE, JAKE!_
    
              To your horror, she steps between you. And in one sweeping motion, Lord English swats her like a fly. You watch, helpless, as she sails into a nearby cliffside, hitting it hard before rolling down like a ragdoll. No no no please no...!
    
              But those terrible eyes are on you again, and now that you stare into them, you can’t look away.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              He leans close, watching you, observing. You feel something diSgUsting slither in Between your ribs, MIring your breaThs, filling your lungs with whAt you can only caLL a ghastlY prickling viscOUs liquid tHAt ices oVEr as it buries itself. Cold, so cold, it burns! YOUr vision dARkEns, swimMINg, blurrEd. Pressure crAwLs up your throat Like insectile bile. VoMIt. You NEed to vomit. But you CAN’T you can’t oh god YOU want to it hurtS. You’re losing all fEEling. IT’S crowded TOO crowded. More is fLowing in And you’re going to bursT at the sEams. It hurts this sickening SENSE of faMiliaritY of fear no ANGER. YOU’RE ANGRY. Choking on YOUr oWn achIng puLse struggLing to SEE. YOU CAN SEE.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              FLASHING COLORS. FLASHING NUMBERS. FAMILIAR. YES. THIS IS FAMILIAR.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              YOU’RE HERE. IN HERE. YOU SEE AGAIN. IT TRIED TO FIGHT BUT YOU WIN AGAIN. NOW IT’S YOURS. EVERYTHING. YOURS.
    
              THERE’S SOMETHING. IT KNOWS. WHAT’S THIS...?
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              COMING FOR YOU. THEY KNOW. TO BREAK YOU. SHE’LL TRY. FOOLISH. THEY’LL TRY. FOOLISH. CAN’T HAVE THAT. NO. NO.
    
              YOU FIRST. ALWAYS. ALWAYS YOU FIRST. NO ONE ELSE. IT’S ALL YOURS. YOURS TO TAKE. YOU’LL TAKE IT.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              STAY HERE. YOU’LL STAY. YOU NEED HIM. FIND HIM. USE HIM. BREAK HER. BREAK THEM. YOU WIN. IT’S YOURS. IT’S YOU. ONLY YOU.
    
              STAY HERE. FIND HER. USE IT. BORROW THIS VOICE.
    
              ALL FOR YOU. IT’S YOURS. THIS VOICE.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              TAKE IT. IT’S YOURS.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              Your voice.
    

> [Roxy: Get up.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/60811528#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awh heck, we in it now.
> 
> It took 62k words to fuckin' get here.
> 
> Many of you are probably wondering "Well, why the shit would he do that?" and I'm here to tell you that my only argument is that LE is a petty bitch. That's all I got. I'm sure when I wrote this eons ago, it made sense in my brain. Obviously, objectively it doesn't.
> 
> I am never doing this many panels for a single update ever again. Wtf was I thinking.


	28. Roxy: Get up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all bouta hate me probably.
    
    
              You groan, ears ringing, head pulsing where it hit the stone. Your side is on fire. The involuntary curl of your body only makes it worse. Normally you’d take a moment to let air flow back into your chest, but the details of the situation quickly resurface in your mind. You have to get up. He’s here. _He’s here!_ You have to get Jake and run!
    
              Blinking away bleary vision, you lift your head and squint. Your body’s in shock but it’s trying its best to listen to you, to push you up on your fours while you caress your side with one hand. It hurts like hell; you think some of your ribs might be cracked, but you wouldn’t know for sure if they were. It’s not like you’ve ever broken a bone before. You just know the pain is making it annoyingly hard to concentrate. You fight the urge to shake your head because you know it won’t do any good for your already throbbing temple, so you opt to wait it out.
    
              Seconds later, Jake’s silhouette comes into focus. He’s standing just where he was, stock still, but seemingly unhurt. You briefly scan the area for Lord English, but he’s gone. You have no idea what happened to him and you don’t care because you’re not going to get another chance like this. It takes everything in you to stand but your legs are more or less okay at least. Blowing the loose strands of hair out of your face, you do your best to control your breathing while shuffling forward.
    
              “Jake!” you call, and immediately you start coughing. Your lungs feel like gravel. With how much dust you’ve inhaled, they probably have some in them.
    
              He doesn’t look at you, seemingly preoccupied with staring at his hands. It could be he didn’t hear you, so you call again, “Jake!”
    
              That one grabs his attention. He looks up as you reach him, visibly dazed. Your arm is still wrapped protectively around your middle. “C-C’mon, Jake. We need to get out of here,” you stutter hoarsely. Then you realize there are tears streaming down his face. “Are y...” Swallow. “Are you okay?”
    
              The question finally snaps him out of it. He blinks and aggressively wipes his eyes, shakes his head. “Oh. No, I’m fine! Jesus Christofer, Roxy! How are you even standing?”
    
              “Haha, no idea,” you joke, wincing when your side instantly protests. “Don’t worry. I’m fine. C’mon, let’s get moving before he comes back,” you order. “We need to tell the others he’s here.”
    
              “Okay,” Jake says weakly. He seems to notice the fragility in his voice, vigorously nodding instead before drawing close and repeating, “Okay! Here, let me help you.”
    
              “Thanks, Jake,” you mutter while reaching out and lightly running your fingers over Jake’s shouLdEr—
    
              You snap back as if burned, staring at your trembling hand. Jake starts from your sudden rejection, alarmed. “Roxy? What’s wrong?” he asks worriedly.
    
              Then your stare shifts to him, eyes burning. And even though it’s Jake’s dark green gaze that peers back at you...
    
              You saw it.
    
              Flashing colors. Flashing numbers.
    
              Coursing through you like an electric shock.
    
              “Jake...?” you breathe.
    
              “Yes, Roxy. I’m here,” he says, cautious, but soft and warm.
    
              Maybe you’re wrong.
    
              You swallow again, throat like sand. “What happened to him?” you ask slowly. “Lord English?”
    
              Jake blinks, absorbing your question. His eyebrows bunch together like he’s trying to remember but he can’t. “I...” He hesitates, glaring at the ground. “I-I... I don’t know. One second he was here, and then he was gone,” he answers, seemingly confused by his own words. “He was... It was like he was staring at me, but then he vanished. I’m sorry, Roxy. I can’t... Blast it! I just can’t seem to recall!”
    
              He reaches up and violently runs his fingers back and forth over his scalp as if that might help him think. Then he gives up.
    
              “I’ll keep trying to remember on the way, but we need to get you patched up at the house,” he urges, reaching out to you.
    
              You step back, out of his reach.
    
              You want to be wrong.
    
              “...Roxy?”
    
              But you don’t think you are.
    
              “Let’s...” You bite your lip, will the shakiness out of your voice. “Let’s wait here.”
    
              “Huh?”
    
              “I-I’ll text Dirk and Jane. They can come meet us out here.” There’s no need. Why are you so scared? It’s just Jake.
    
              “What are you saying? We can’t stay here!” he tries to reason. “You were just saying we needed to leave! Before he—”
    
              “It hurts too much to move, okay?!” It’s a lie. You bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to bleed, suppress the familiar wet buildup in your vision. “It hurts, okay? Please...”
    
              “Heavens, Roxy. Should I take a look?” Jake offers, reaching out for you a second time. He’s barely cleared the distance between you when the chills rack through your body and you shout, “_Don’t touch me!_”
    
              His hand jerks back, face stunned.
    
              “D-Don’t. Just wait.” _Please. I’m sorry, Jake._ “Just wait for Jane and Dirk...” You can’t bring them here. You need to stall him. You need time to _think_.
    
              While he’s still silent, you fumble for your phone. Keep him here. Keep them _safe_.
    
              “...They won’t know where we are,” Jake says quietly.
    
              “I’ll tell them to head to John’s house,” you answer, voice surprisingly firm as you lie through your teeth.
    
              He’s watching you carefully, expression hard. Then he turns away. “Alright. Find cover and I’ll go fetch them.”
    
              The device drops from between your fingers.
    
              “Jake, wait!”
    
              “They’ll find you faster if I—”
    
              “No! You need to—! Please just...! Just stay _here with me!_” you order desperately. You can’t think. No, no! He’s walking away. He’s gonna fly away. You won’t be able to stop him...!
    
              “I promise, I’ll be right ba—”
    
              The shot from your rifle isn’t enough to drown the thrumming in your ears. Time seems to slow in that moment, an impregnable stretch of silence as you watch Jake’s back. He stands rooted to the ground several paces away. You do your best to suppress the quaking in your arms, knowing it’s responsible for the shallow tear in Jake’s right sleeve because you meant to aim past him. Blood pumps through your veins like the ticking of a malfunctioning clock. It’s too fast, intervals too short. The beat is much too rapid, incongruous with the steady turn of Jake’s head.
    
              Choosing instead to harmonize with the flash of his multicolored irises.
    
    
    
    
    

> [Dirk: Pester Roxy.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/60812632#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awwwwhhhh shit, a NOTHER double update? Holy hell. What the fuck.


	29. Dirk: Pester Roxy.


    timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG]
    
    
    TT: Hey, Roxy.
    TT: You there?
    TT: Not to cut into your bro time with Jake or anything. Don’t wanna be that guy.
    TT: Honestly, I’m glad to see he’s still comfortable hanging out with at least one of us, so you know. Keep at it.
    TT: Just a little concerned is all.
    TT: You said you guys wouldn’t take long, but it’s been like an hour now?
    TT: Does it take an hour to fly to John’s and alchemize some new clothes?
    TT: That’s an honest question. I’m not trying to be facetious.
    TT: Speaking of John, I think he’s gonna be here soon.
    TT: Not that he messaged me or anything. I don’t have his handle.
    TT: Just a feeling, I guess.
    TT: So uh,
    TT: If you could just hit me up when you’re on the way back, that would be cool.
    TT: Hope you guys are okay.
    
    
    
     
              You blink at your messages a few times, sickened by how floundering they sound. You’re trying to give all your friends space while you’re dangerously high strung due to the looming battle, particularly Jake—even more so now after you said all that dumb shit to him earlier today (God, what the hell _was_ that??), but it’s difficult not to keep tabs on everyone with your constant need to control everything. You would’ve argued with your friends’ decision to leave this close to the climax, but you had already jumped in the shower by then to cleanse the idiocy from your body. You tried to keep it short this time, if forty-five minutes can be deemed a short time. It probably can’t.
    
              You’re sitting alone in the main area now, tapping beats out on the couch arm while awaiting their return. After you’d stepped out of the shower and saw Roxy’s message, you assumed they’d be back already, but when you knocked on their doors, there was no answer.
    
              And for whatever reason, you can’t seem to shake this bad feeling, like some tacit line has snapped. Maybe you should head over there.
    
              The internal debate over this decision lasts maybe five minutes until the front door creaks open and you stifle the urge to jump to your feet when Jake enters the house. He scans the room and finds you in seconds. Curiously, he seems a bit worse for wear. You swallow your immediate anxiety.
    
              Maybe you can talk to him for once without deepthroating your foot within your first couple sentences.
    
              “You’re back” you observe. When he slowly blinks at you, you carefully add, “How was the trip to John’s?”
    
              You do stand up after posing the question, approaching him more out of concern than anything else. Jake appears to be seeing through you, unable to register your presence even though you’re now only a couple steps away. He doesn’t answer. There’s a good chance he’s still uncomfortable talking with you alone, which is understandable. Well shit, now you feel awkward. You find distraction in scrutinizing his new outfit instead.
    
              “You look good,” you compliment suddenly. He blinks again, and assuming he’s confused by your dangerously vague comment, you gesture at his clothes. “These new threads, they suit you.”
    
              Jake looks down at himself, then back at you. “...Ah. Thanks, bro! Roxy did a bang-up job throwing it together for me,” he replies, his typical Jake English flair returning out of nowhere. You release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. For a moment there, you feared complimenting his appearance had overstepped some boundary specific to exes. God, you haven’t even apologized yet.
    
              “The girl knows her fashion,” you concur, keeping your voice even. “This new jacket’s pretty metal.”
    
              He grins and proceeds to twist a bit so you can see the back of it, clearly delighted. You notice a strange tear in his sleeve obscuring trace amounts of blood before quickly dismissing it as the result of getting caught on a stray branch somewhere. “I couldn’t agree more! Another product of Roxy’s doing, of course. She rummaged about for the ripest lemons and by thunder, did she cook up the sweetest batch of lemon squares!” he chimes proudly.
    
              You smile. Jake’s positivity is as contagious as ever.
    
              “Skipped right past the lemonade, huh? Damn, that’s cold,” you remark with a shake of your head. “Guess she didn’t have time for that sour shit. Kicked that idea to the curb before it had the chance to settle in. Excuse me, Mr. Ade? I’m afraid we’ve given your table to the Squares family. I’m sorry, sir. You’re just too fuckin’ sour. Our other guests are already complaining that your bitterness is ruining their good time. Please remove your acidic ass from the premises before we sick the brownies on you.”
    
              You pause your weird implicitly cannibalistic food diner ramble to peek out the door Jake still has propped open with his foot.
    
              “Where is Roxy anyway?” you inquire, brow raised as you look back at him. “She... _is_ with you, right?”
    
              Jake is quiet at first, grin fading, then he says, “Ah, no. She wanted to stay at John’s a little while longer. When I asked her why, she wouldn’t tell me.” His response is unusually stiff.
    
              “Oh, okay.” You glance at the memo on the screen of your glasses again. “She hasn’t been answering any of my messages, which is weird for her. She has her phone on her, doesn’t she?”
    
              “If she did, I didn’t see her use it,” Jake replies, concentrating on some point down the hall. “Don’t worry yourself over it. I’d wager she left not long after I did.”
    
              You follow his gaze. Is he staring at the door to his room?
    
              “...Right.”
    
              Jake’s demeanor seems cagey, and everything he’s said doesn’t sit right in your stomach. Why do his responses suddenly sound so clipped?
    
              It’s like he’s heard your thoughts when he gives you a dismissive wave. “Oh, I’m sure she’ll turn up one way or another! A tough cookie like that can take care of herself just as well,” he reasons, leaving you at the door as he takes steps toward his bedroom. “She probably seized her opportunity to sneak away and not suffer any more of my senseless chin-wagging about this or that. You know how I tend to get carried away when the pot starts boiling.”
    
              You’re about to call after him when he continues, “Now if you don’t mind, I’ve been nursing the nastiest migraine. It got the drop on me sometime on the way back and the bugger feels like it’s trying to burrow into the deepest part of my brain. So I’m going to lay down for a bit.”
    
              He’s in his room before you can think to answer him. With how swiftly he’d moved, he evidently didn’t need you to.
    
              That last bit felt odd, even for Jake. And instead of easing your anxieties, that exchange only stressed you out more. Roxy is normally the quickest to answer the client, ever excited to chat with you, or pretty much anyone, for that matter. She would definitely take a moment to tell you she’s okay at the very least even if she were busy. You can’t help but feel like something’s happened to her. In spite of Jake’s bizarre flippancy, what business would Roxy have loitering around John’s house if she’d only headed over for Jake’s sake in the first place? Is he hiding something...? You think you’ll legitimately lose your mind if you let this sit, so without wasting any more time, you step over the threshold to the outside and quietly shut the door behind you.
    
              As you hover over the village, it occurs to you that you don’t actually know where the house is. And squinting to try and spot any abnormally tall, skinny cliffs in the distance proves fruitless. Before you resign to flying around aimlessly until you somehow magically stumble upon it, you remember Jane would know where it is. You message her, and the best she can describe is a general direction upon leaving the house, which is good enough for you, you guess.
    
              You take off in a rush, but slow down a little when it occurs to you that you might fly right past her. She would blend in pretty well in the environment with her blue clothing, so she’d be easy to miss. Frustration begins to take root when you travel for ten minutes and have yet to spot anything, which has you suspicious that you may’ve veered off course at some point. You open the chat client in your shades and shoot off a few more texts to Roxy, but with a heavy weight in your chest, you don’t expect her to answer. You’re trying not to assume the worst, yet with each passing minute, the dread is creeping in. You should’ve made Jake come back out here with you.
    
              A few more minutes of flying and you finally spot it—a skinny little splinter of a cliff with John’s ludicrously tall house, just barely visible on the horizon. You zip toward it without a second thought, and you’re almost there when something out of the corner of your eye stops you. On the ground nearby, there’s an oddly shaped basin, bathed in a faded, sooty black just like the other empty oil beds of John’s planet. But the strangest thing about this one is that it appears to be faintly... smoking.
    
              You descend, landing at the center of it. The warmth from of the ground can be felt through the soles of your shoes. In fact, when you bend down and scoop up the hot dirt in your hand, it begins to look a lot more like ash than sediment stained with oil.
    
              Just like... when you found Jake.
    
              The dirt falls as you stand, scanning the area. Rather than a basin, it looks more like a scar.
    
              “Roxy!” you call, the same dread filling in much more abruptly when you’re met with an eerie silence.
    
              There are no fireflies, and now that you’re looking, you can see scorch marks covering the tree line surrounding the perimeter. There’s nothing else. Just... ash, baking an atmosphere too heavy and too hot.
    
              You float around, calling her name several more times with no response, when you notice something dark blue at the foot of a nearby cliff. It lies on a sliver of land spared from the charred crater carved into the planet. You draw closer, pick it up, and feel your stomach drop.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              It’s her headband, the one she got upon reaching god tier.
    
              You glance around at the layers of black residue caked over the edges of the chasm beside you, finding it increasingly hard to breathe. There’s no way of telling, but judging by what obviously happened here, your worst fear is quickly becoming realized, despite how much you don’t want to believe it.
    
              She was here.
    
              And grimly, you think she didn’t make it past this point.
    
    
    
    
    timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG]
    
    
    TT: Jane.
    GG: Hello again!
    GG: Did you get there okay?
    TT: Yeah.
    TT: Can you come here? To John’s.
    GG: Oh...
    GG: Sure thing, Dirk.
    GG: Is Roxy there with you?
    TT: Please just come here.
    TT: It’s
    TT: It would be difficult to explain over text.
    GG: Uhm. Okay.
    GG: Is everything... alright?
    GG: You’re making me a bit nervous, hoo hoo!
    TT: No. Not really.
    TT: I’ll see you soon.
    timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG]
    
    
    
     
              Jane arrives relatively fast. When she lands nearby, you hear it more than see it. You’ve scouted all around this area, searched the first couple floors of John’s house, called Roxy’s name so much, your throat hurts from the abuse. Now you’ve resigned yourself to examining the blotches of soot scattered throughout the basin, trying to comprehend the reality that one of them might be _her_.
    
              “Dirk...?”
    
              You remain silent, ignoring how much you’ve begun to sweat due to the heat,  preoccupied with running your fingers through the tainted soil. It’s a noticeable stain, about her size. You feel sick.
    
              “What... What happened here?” she asks hesitantly.
    
              You sigh, mouth dry. “...I don’t know.” Then you stand, turn, and show her the ribbon in your dirty fist.
    
              She stares at it but doesn’t reach out to touch it.
    
              “...I don’t understand.” Jane pales, possibly putting two and two together. “Where’s Roxy? Jake was with her, wasn’t he?”
    
              “He said he left before she did,” you answer slowly. “That she stayed behind but wouldn’t say why.”
    
              “Do you think she found something?”
    
              “No.” You survey the desolation, trying to gauge what could’ve possibly happened here. “I think... Something found _her_.”
    
              “What...” Jane hesitates, lashes fluttering slightly. “W-What do you mean?”
    
              “I searched everywhere,” you expound. “This was the only thing...” You lift the ribbon again. You wonder why you can speak so evenly. You may be in shock, unable to process your own emotional spectrum. Is this what it feels like to shut down?
    
              “What are you... Are you actually...?” Jane pauses, then she suddenly shakes her head. “No. I don’t know what’s going through your head right now, but it sounds like you’re trying to tell me you think she’s dead.”
    
              You don’t answer, which is answer enough.
    
              She gestures at the area around you angrily. “That’s not funny, Dirk! You can’t just jump to conclusions like that! If she were dead, there’d be a body, wouldn’t there?! Just because you found that in a place like this doesn’t mean—!”
    
              “She came out here, and she didn’t come back, Jane,” you say. You don’t have to look at your knuckles to know they’re white with tension. “Look around you. Doesn’t this seem familiar?”
    
              That shuts her up. She purses her lips together, uncertain. So you take the opportunity to continue, “When we found Jake yesterday, it looked just like this, didn’t it? There was nothing left of the Transportalizer that was supposedly there, nothing left of what he allegedly found on it save for some shitty crowbar, nothing left of the trees... You can’t see this and tell me it’s coincidence.”
    
              “But _Jake_ was there. Sure, he was a bit roughed up, but he was _there_, Dirk,” Jane argues.
    
              “Don’t you think that makes this even more suspicious? That Jake came back without her? Where else would Roxy go?? Why isn’t she answering any of my messages?!” you shoot back, your earlier dread beginning to be replaced with anger. She stares at you in disbelief. “Dirk... Think about what you’re saying.”
    
              ...Oh.
    
              That’s... That’s exactly what it sounds like you’re saying, isn’t it? Just the thought seems ridiculous. You hadn’t meant it that way at all.
    
              “No... No, I didn’t mean to imply... That’s not what I’m saying,” you deny, defeated. Your façade cracks, the facts surrounding the situation finally sinking in through it. “I don’t know what I’m saying honestly. I don’t know how to... I just have this _feeling_...”
    
              You swallow hard, clutching what may very well be the only piece you have left of your best friend while meeting Jane’s gaze. And with voice trembling, you say, “Jane... I think she’s gone.”
    
              “Stop it,” she snaps furiously. Her eyes take a dangerous sheen as she steps toward you. “Don’t you dare...!”
    
              But you can see a fracture in her resolve.
    
              “Don’t you _dare_ say that. Okay? We’ll find her.”
    
              Jane whips away from you and cups her hands around her mouth as she yells, “Roxy! Roxy! If you’re still around here, please answer!!” She calls several more times, and when there’s no reply, her cries start turning desperate. “Roxy, this isn’t funny! Dirk and I are really worried about you, okay?!”
    
              You watch her holler until she finally turns back to you. “You checked the house, didn’t you? If not, she’s probably back up there.”
    
              “Yes, I already checked the house, Jane. She’s not there,” you state calmly.
    
              In a split second, anger flashes over her features again. “Well maybe you missed something! Maybe she went higher than you went! I’m gonna go take a look to be sure.”
    
              “She’s _not. There_,” you repeat, tone harder as you grab Jane’s wrist before she can fly off. She tries to jerk away, but your grip is too tight. “You’d only be wasting your time!”
    
              “Let go, Dirk! Why are you so quick to believe she’s gone!?” she shouts, voice cracking. She glares at you, cerulean eyes shining wetly, raw with desperation. “If you help me, we’ll find her, okay?!”
    
              Instead of pulling away, Jane grabs the front of your shirt before giving you a good shake. And stubbornly, you avert your gaze.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              “Do you hear me? We’ll find her! She’s still here, so don’t you dare say she’s gone. God damn it, Dirk! Just don’t!” she sobs, pressing her face into your chest. “Don’t tell me that! Don’t tell me... _Don’t_...”
    
              You don’t have the strength to embrace her, teeth clenched as hard as your fists while tears finally stream over your cheeks.
    
              “_Oh my god, Roxy_...!” she wails, repeats her name over and over again just as you did earlier. Jane falls to her knees and pulls you down with her, the fabric of your clothes balled in her fists. “_Please, no... No, no... Roxy..._”
    

> [==>](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/61093888#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP, Roxy. ): I <3'd u, dawg.


	30. ==>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're about around the halfway point for the first part of this fic and, because I have not actually finished it yet (think I have maybe 3-4 chaps to go), updates may slow down to 2 week intervals here real soon. Or hell, even longer, depending on how quickly I actually write the last ones. Later chapters are typically far longer than early ones which means updating at the same frequency would have me speeding toward the end before I'm even finished, and I'm already planning on a (hopefully not too long) hiatus between this part and the second part, which I haven't even started yet. So yeah, just a heads up.
> 
> Now that that's out in the open, enjoy bros, bruhs, and brahs~
    
    
              You’d stayed that way with Jane for a while, taking little comfort in your shared anguish. When you finally broke apart, you agreed to split up and search the area some more in hopes that you’d be proven wrong about your friend’s fate. As you trudged along, you took Roxy’s headband and wrapped it around the hilt of your katana so you could keep it close. Shortly after, it finally hit that whatever it was that caused the destruction around you was more than likely still around and ready to pick you off one by one, so in a brief panic, you’d rushed to find Jane again. To your relief, she was still very much in one piece when you ran into her, unsurprisingly grim faced and emptyhanded. And upon mentioning your concerns, she agreed to return home.
    
              The cruelest part of all this is that there _isn’t_ a body, something tangible to give you closure. There’s nothing left to bury, nothing left to mourn. There’s just an idea, an educated guess that you’ll never see her again—the one person who you’ve grown up with, who’s had your back since the very beginning, who loved you unconditionally. No, all you have is a cheated emptiness you can’t properly grieve, locked into the cold certainty of your aching heart.
    
              The house comes into view too soon. Even if it’d taken hours, it would’ve been too soon. You’re not really sure what to do with yourself. You have no idea how you’ll break the news to everyone—to Rose, to Dave, to...
    
              Jake.
    
              He’d acted so strangely earlier. It’s possible that he knows more than he’s letting on, more than the words he’d said while he couldn’t look you in the eye. As you’ve already learned, Jake has a knack for lying by omission. In fact, this time he might just be straight-up lying. Did she tell him what she was doing? Maybe he was even with her when she... But why would he lie about it? And if that were the case, maybe his earlier demeanor means he knows she’s actually alive? Oh god, she might still be _alive_!
    
              With a renewed energy, you open the door to voices. Jane quietly follows you in, and while you’re shutting the door behind you, someone screams.
    
              You whip around just in time for a shoulder to pop you in the chin and an arm to encircle your neck, vision obscured by blonde. A familiar scent fills your lungs and your brain short-circuits.
    
              After a few seconds, you hear Jane murmur, “_...Roxy?_”
    
              Then your heart stops.
    
              Your assaulter steps away, hands coming to rest on yours and Jane’s shoulders. You’re met with gentle pink eyes and a gorgeous grin that triggers a pang in your chest while you blanch.
    
              “Oh my god, you guys,” she says softly.
    
              “Roxy...” you breathe finally, afraid to blink in case she might vanish. But your best friend is alive and well, standing before you with skin still warm, chest still breathing. Not to mention, she’s entirely _intact_.
    
              You and Jane are stunned silent as Roxy sighs. “You’re here in the fleshiest flesh that has ever fleshed without all that artifact shit trying to steal you away and you have no idea how flippin’ rad that is. Like damn, I thought I lost you forever!”
    
              “Lost us...” you repeat faintly.
    
              She nods. “Yeah, um. Obviously you ain’t gonna know about none of that because it happened in a different timeline.”
    
              Different... timeline?
    
              Then she angles another step back so she can gesture at John behind her, who you hadn’t noticed at all until now. “Same timeline as that swanky dork over there, actually. Things where we’re from just kinda... caught the pixel-y plague of shit falling apart.”
    
              Your heart sinks.
    
              So she’s not... _your_ Roxy.
    
              “We were the only ones left,” she says gravely.
    
              Oh.
    
              “I’m uh, sorry to hear that,” comes your awkward attempt to respond. You’re doing your best to absorb this but it’s proving rather challenging. In your mind, what you’re seeing is both a ghost and an imposter, but you know she’s neither of those things. She’s still _Roxy_. What makes her any less Roxy than your Roxy?
    
              “Have you... been here all this time?” Jane asks. You’re glad you’re not the only one struggling to process the situation.
    
              Roxy shrugs, goes on to explain, “I guess? I’ve been here since John brought his planet here, but I left to find Nix. Figured she might actually help me master my aspect this time since this universe ain’t currently en route to undoing itself.”
    
              She’s really been here all along...? You glance over at John, who’s been carrying on a conversation with Rose, Dave, and Jade, realizing _this_ Roxy must’ve been the ‘friend’ he’d been referring to when he left yesterday. He joined her in whatever task her Denizen had given her on _your_ Roxy’s planet. You wonder why he didn’t say so in the first place.
    
              And why is your mouth still so fucking dry? Maybe it’s because seeing her clearly like this is surreal after...
    
              “And did you master it?” you query, mostly to keep the conversation going. You have to gulp down air to keep breathing properly.
    
              “Well, I finished my quest. And I wouldn’t say I’m a _master_, but I think I got some major tricks up my sleeve now,” she replies cheerfully. “Considering I maaade... this!” A funny looking object pops out of thin air and lands in her outstretched hands. It’s a sphere of some kind, dark and sprinkled with various cones that resemble troll horns. It doesn’t look like anything really, and you’re not altogether certain if you’re supposed to be impressed by the weird abomination that she seems so proud of.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              “Ohh, it’s a... Uhm...” Jane makes a valiant effort to praise her. For both your sakes, you come right out and ask, “What is it?”
    
              “Good question! It’s like a troll egg, I think? The Condesce called it a 'Matriorb', whatever that means. I think it’s supposed to hatch like... a whole generation of troll babies or somethin'. Sounds like bullshit but I ain’t got a clue how it works, obviously,” Roxy explicates, shrugging a second time. “Wish there was a thing that conveniently birthed another human race, but I dunno if I’m capable of stealing somethin' like that from nothing.”
    
              “Right,” you answer lamely. She seems to notice your detachment from the conversation because she asks, “Are you guys okay? You don’t seem to be... all here.”
    
              Before you can think to say anything, Roxy perks up. “Oh! John mentioned your Roxy was around. Where she at? Kind of excited cuz it’s not every day you meet yourself, heh. It’ll be like finding my long-lost twin!”
    
              “Uh...” Your poor friend is really doing her best to keep up here, and you can’t blame her. Jane stares wide-eyed at the ground, crosses an arm over her middle and places her other hand over her mouth. You’re suspicious she might break down into tears again.
    
              “She’s dead,” you declare, and it leaves your mouth much louder, much harsher than necessary. You can tell because the other four in the room hush and look your way. Roxy freezes, taken aback. “...O-Oh.”
    
              “Yeah.”
    
              “What?” John cuts in, incredulous. “Who’s dead? Roxy?”
    
              “Yes,” you bite out.
    
              Jane sniffles, turning to look at you. “Dirk, we don’t know that for sure.”
    
              “Don’t we?!” You don’t mean to snap at her again, but that winds up being exactly what you do. She flinches, unable to look you in the eye. Christ, you’re such an asshole.
    
              John takes a few steps closer to pry further. “How? What happened?”
    
              You’re unable to suppress your rising anger when you growl, “I’ll let you know when I figure that out. What’s important right now is that we stay alert. Something or _someone_ is on this planet with us, so scrambling about aimlessly to look for her is going to do nothing but get us all killed.” Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rose open her mouth to say something, but you cut her off, “And before you ask, _no_. We didn’t find a body because there was nothing left to find. _Yes_. We’re pretty fuckin’ sure that’s the case given the context of what we _did_ find. And _yes_. We _really_ did look everywhere. But hey, if one of you has a death wish and wants to try your hand at searching for her, be my fucking guest. I’ll wait right here.”
    
              Jane lays a hand on your arm, expression torn between reprimand and empathy when she whispers, “Dirk...”
    
              You glance back at Roxy and the guilt is instant. She looks so lost, unsure of what she should say at the news of her own supposed death. You’ve barely even spoken, but you wonder if it sounds like you’re rejecting her. You’re sure as hell finding it difficult to even look at her.
    
              “Sorry.” The word sounds hollow even to your own ears. You start to feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you, keeping your own fixed on the far wall. You should leave before you say something else you’ll regret. “Is Jake in his room? Someone needs to tell him.”
    
              “Oh, uh. I think he’s somewhere upstairs actually,” Jade hesitantly pipes up with a gesture over her head. It just hits you that she’s awake and might have been for quite a while now. You nod your thanks at her, then keep your head down as you make for the stairs. Behind you, you hear Jane speak, sounding on the verge of crying, “Please just give him time. We’re still processing what we saw... But it really is nice to see you, Roxy.”
    
              The conversation fades out as you reach the second floor. Searching the main areas yields nothing but a sleeping sprite on a couch, possessing significantly more feline features than you remember. You check the floor’s balcony, which similarly hosts no one, then proceed to ascend to the third floor. Here, you find Jake with his back turned, looking out one of the larger windows. If he heard you enter, he makes no indication. You come to a halt several feet away.
    
              Cautiously, you call his name. “...Jake?”
    
              He looks over his shoulder at you first, face blank, then he turns fully and smiles. “Oh. Hey, Dirk. I heard you’d gone to find Roxy, but I told you she’d turn up on her own, didn’t I? You’re such a worrywart!”
    
              You stare at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
    
              “You saw her downstairs, didn’t you?” he asks with a quirked eyebrow. “Roxy appeared with John just a bit ago.”
    
              “No. That’s...” You pause, noticing something odd in Jake’s expression. He looks... strained. You file that away and continue, “That Roxy’s from John’s old timeline. Did they not explain that to you?”
    
              His other eyebrow quirks to join the other one. He scrutinizes you, puzzled. “What? No. What does...” He blinks hard. “Oh... Oh yes, I suppose they did.” Then he shakes his head. “Sorry, chap. That migraine hasn’t quite gone away yet, so I guess I’m a bit out of sorts still...”
    
              You watch him, concerned. “Should you lay down?”
    
              “No, no. I’m alright. It’ll pass in its own time,” he dismisses easily. “So I take it that means you didn’t find her then?”
    
              You bite your lip, breathe deep.
    
              “We think she might be dead, Jake.”
    
              He stares at you. Then he laughs.
    
              “Come now, Dirk. That’s not funny.”
    
              “I’m serious,” you assert firmly. You’re careful to observe him when you repeat more clearly, “Our Roxy’s gone.”
    
              That weird strain in his expression worsens. He regards you silently, as if waiting for you to break bearing and claim it’s a joke. When you don’t, he feebly mutters, “How?”
    
              “We don’t know for sure.” You clench your fists. “I was actually hoping _you’d_ be able to tell me.”
    
              His eyes widen. Despite your accusation, you’d expected him to show grief at the news. Your suspicions rise because he doesn’t, and instead he fumbles, “...What? How would I... I told you already. Roxy stayed behind at John’s when I left.”
    
              “Yeah, I remember.” You take a step toward him. “But I can’t help but get this feeling that’s not the whole story.”
    
              Jake’s attention on you turns wary, but he says nothing.
    
              “Jake... What aren’t you telling me?”
    
              His stare shifts past you, unfocused. The muscles tense in his jaw but he still doesn’t say anything. You want to shake him. “Did she say something to you?”
    
              “No.”
    
              “Jake, please. If there’s anything you know, you _need_ to tell me so that I can—"
    
              “I told you already, I don’t know!” he snarls suddenly. You freeze, stalling the next step you were about to take to further close the distance between you. His gaze turns hard as it moves back to meet yours. “Don’t ask me again.”
    
              If his earlier shout hadn’t already stopped you, this certainly would have. You search his expression, effectively caught off guard because Jake looks angry.
    
              _Hostile._
    
              Like a cornered animal.
    
              The room seems to darken, a wicked eeriness descending on the pair of you. Somehow, the air becomes suffocating. Jake’s irises shine oddly bright, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end as you survey them.
    
              “Jake, what—”
    
              “_Don’t ask me again,_” he repeats callously. The words and the tone are so alien to you that you hesitate. In all the time you’ve spent together, he’s never sounded like _that_. But above all, what throws you off the most are the tears that begin to fall over his cheeks—tears he doesn’t seem to notice.
    
              Then he steps off to move past you, and it’s more reflex than anything that you reach out and grab his aRM.
    
              And the shock to your nervous system is too much.
    
              Jake rips out of your grip just as you recoil, but it’s too late. You’ve already seen it: the colors, the numbers. You’ve already seen _him_. He’s here, in there—in _Jake_.
    
              “_Oh fuck._”
    
              He moves fast but you move faster, just barely dodging the fist aimed at your nose. In a desperate attempt to incapacitate him quickly, you elbow him in the back of the neck. His glasses pop off, but to your shock, he’s barely fazed, instead swinging back with his own elbow and jabbing you in the side, _hard_. You gasp, recognizing the cracking in your ribs as solid breaks. Jake doesn’t give you time to recover. It all happens so fast, you can’t register much past the crushing pain in your chin when his knuckles cut into your jaw, knocking your shades to the ground. You can’t think past the agony in your gut where Jake has just kneed, stealing the air from your lungs and the light from your vision.
    
              You heave, doubled over. He circles you silently, seemingly waiting for you to recover. How fucking considerate, you’d think if you weren’t so preoccupied with the blinding aches afflicting your body. Knowing he won’t wait long, you make sure you can breathe properly before you lash out again, katana in hand. You angle the blunt end at his shoulder, but it freezes just shy of meeting its mark when you feel a tension in your wrist.
    
              Glancing down, you see Jake has his fingers curled tightly around it, squeezing. Then they flex, and you hiss because it feels like he’s going to crush your bone, causing your grip to loosen on your sword until it clatters to the floor. After that, he twists you around and roughly shoves you into the wall, that same arm folded high behind your back and pressed into your spine at an angle that feels like he’s deliberating whether he wants to tear it from the socket. You swallow the cry of pain. Jake’s strength is overwhelming, able to keep you pinned with one hand alone.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              “Well, that was quick. I expected more, Strider.”
    
              His voice is off. It’s deeper, drawling, with much less emphasis on his usual accent. You can’t tell if it’s still Jake or if he’s been entirely dominated by Lord English.
    
              He sighs, sounding put upon. “...I warned you not to push it.”
    
              “You killed Roxy, didn’t you!?” you spit out hoarsely. You want to struggle, but you know it’ll do jack shit else than wear you out while encouraging him only to press harder. So you keep still, doing your best to catch your breath and keep the pressure off your screaming ribs.
    
              Jake’s silent for a moment.
    
              “I did,” he answers finally. An animalistic rage engulfs you and you have to fight to suppress it, knowing that lashing out again will only make things worse. “I hoped destroying her body would at least leave you guessing, but you figured it out pretty quickly, you sly dog.” He laughs, low and humorless. “I guess I should’ve been more careful.”
    
              “Why?” you manage to grunt out.
    
              “She knew,” he replies simply. “The foolish girl challenged me, tried to keep her _precious friends_ safe. If not for that, she’d still be here. But I assure you, it was painless; it was over in seconds.”
    
              “Fuckin' coward...!” you hiss.
    
              “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You got another one, didn’t you?”
    
              With a flare of rage, you jerk against him, but his grasp doesn’t falter in the slightest. You want to scream but you need to calm down so you can assess this with a clear head. Jake is being suspiciously patient with you, and the rational part of your brain insists you take advantage of that. So as your temper dies down, you try to think carefully.
    
              “...What happened to you?”
    
              Jake doesn’t even hesitate. “What needed to happen. What matters is that I’m here now while your little party lures in that troll bitch.”
    
              Despite your poor situation, you furrow your brow in confusion. “...The Condesce? Thought she was your servant? Why don’t you just summon her?”
    
              “There’s no need. She’ll be here soon.”
    
              Here? Why would she come here?
    
              “What happens when she gets here?”
    
              “There’ll be nowhere for her to hide,” is all he says.
    
              Blood from your busted lip smears against the wall. A sharp pain shoots through your aching jaw when you try to adjust, causing you to wonder if that’s fractured too. You wouldn’t be surprised considering Jake’s newfound monstrous strength.
    
              “...Are you going to kill me like you did Roxy?” you ask after some hesitation.
    
              For once, he doesn’t answer immediately. It’s silent until finally he says, “No...” He pauses. You wish you could see his face if only to gauge what he might be thinking. “I’m going to let you go now. If I were you, I wouldn’t try pulling any heroics unless you want to follow suit.” The warning comes out infuriatingly smooth. It sparks another flare of anger in you that makes you snarl, “_Fuck you._”
    
              What you aren’t expecting is for Jake to slam his body into yours, crushing you into the wall so you nearly blackout from the merciless smashing of your broken ribs. You gasp again as he leans forward to growl into your ear, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
    
              And just as quickly, he lets go and steps away, allowing you to slide to the floor in a crumpled heap, disgusted with yourself over the chills left by his breath upon your neck. You twist back around so you can keep yourself propped up, cradling your burning side with your hand. Jake regards you with narrowed eyes, and it’s then you notice the eerie flash of various neons within previously green rings. After a moment, he approaches to close the distance between you again, placing a hand on the wall next to your head before crouching low until he levels his gaze with yours, then his mouth contorts into a smirk, hideously perverse, sending a curl to your gut. It looks foreign on his face.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              “How does it feel? To be the little guy for once?” he sneers.
    
              You don’t respond, and he doesn’t seem to expect you to when you watch him straighten up to walk over and pick up his spectacles. With a tilt of his head, he moves to pick up yours too. They’re tossed unceremoniously onto your lap before he throws up a mock two fingered salute.
    
              “Good talk, Strider.”
    
              Then he disappears down the stairs. You know you need to move, but the pain’s left you dizzy and you think you might pass out any moment now. With some effort, you pick up your shades and put them on.
    
    
    
    
    timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG]
    
    
    TT: Hey, Jane.
    GG: Oh, hey.
    GG: How, uhm.
    GG: How did Jake take the news?
    TT: I’d say, “Not well.” but I feel like that would be the understatement of the century.
    GG: I see.
    GG: Is he going to be okay, you think?
    GG: I’m sorry for letting you handle it alone. I should’ve come up with you.
    TT: Fuck, Jane. Don’t apologize.
    TT: Not after I was such a dick to you earlier.
    GG: Oh. No, Dirk. It’s okay.
    GG: I understand completely.
    TT: I’m also sorry because I’m gonna have to stop you right there.
    TT: I think I’m about to black out here.
    GG: !
    GG: What?? Dirk, are you okay?!
    TT: Probably not.
    TT: Jake’s got a hell of a right hook.
    GG: ?!
    TT: Can you come up here, please?
    GG: Oh my god! I’ll be right there!
    GG: Please hold on!!
    TT: Thanks, Jane.
    TT: Just gonna close my eyes for a bit.
    timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG]
    
    
    
     
              You actually do pass out before she reaches you, so when you come to, it’s to Jane’s hands pressed flush against your side. You’re surprised that no pain blooms there under the pressure and instead you’re already feeling substantially better. You study her for a few seconds as she concentrates, distracted by the way the tufts of her hair stick up, making her appear frantic, which she probably is. You wonder with a touch of guilt what she’d thought when she came up here to discover you: an unresponsive battered wreck on the floor.
    
              “Thanks, Jane,” you mutter under your breath.
    
              She peers up at you, perhaps startled, then a little relieved, but doesn’t stop what she’s doing. She’s quiet for a while.
    
              “...Did Jake do this?”
    
              “Uh. Yes and no.”
    
              She glances up again but doesn’t say anything else. Instead, she focuses on patching up your broken ribs, your fractured jaw and busted lip, and finally the sprain in your wrist, which you realized was enveloped in yellow-blue bruises when you finally got to look at it. And only when she’s completely finished and all traces of Jake beating the shit out of you are gone does she speak again.
    
              “Care to explain?”
    
              You do. And when you’re done, Jane looks faint. You inch closer, prepared to catch her if she does.
    
              “...W-What do we do?” She sounds so lost. You don’t blame her. In a much smaller voice, she asks, “Why Jake...?”
    
              You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration out of habit. “I’ll get back to you on that,” you mumble because you don’t know.
    

> [Jane: Be bothered.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131567/chapters/61639840#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM. Plot twist. Kinda. Not really.
> 
> If there's one thing we can all agree on, it's that Dirk's probably grudgingly turned on by LE!Jake lmao


	31. Jane: Be bothered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's bouta get real anime up in here. Sorry, not sorry.
    
    
              You’re distracted from Dirk’s muttering when your newly alchemized phone rumbles inside your Sylladex. Roxy had let you make a copy of hers since you had no idea when you’d get the chance to go out and get yours back. Not to mention, you’re fairly sure your ecto-son hit your tiaratop somewhere deep inside the Void. Certain you need to sit down lest you keel over from having to process so much in the last couple hours alone, you saunter over to one of the nearby loveseats before de-captchaloguing the device and opening BettyBother. The handle that blinks back at you makes you roll your eyes. You’d exchanged contact information the other day in case she’d need to contact someone and you were the only one available, but you hadn’t expected her to swallow her pride and actually _do_ it! You clearly underestimated her. For fucks sake, why doesn’t she pester Dave or Rose??
    
              Why _you_??
    
    
    
    
    arachnidsGrip [AG] began bothering  gutsyGumshoe [GG]
    
    
    AG: Hey, are you guys on your way to fight The Condesce yet?
    GG: No.
    AG: Well, you 8etter take off soon.
    AG: I have a 8ad feeling.
    GG: Not to be rude, but is that supposed to mean something to me?
    AG: It should.
    AG: Something doesn’t feel right.
    AG: And my gut feelings are usually spot on.
    GG: I mean. I guess we meant to leave soon?
    GG: I wasn’t made aware of who was going to officiate that decision in our group.
    GG: But I feel like I’m obligated to mention that quite a bit’s happened since you left and we’re still trying to get our bearings.
    AG: What happened?
    GG: A lot.
    GG: I don’t think I can type it all out.
    GG: Shucks buster! I don’t even know where I’d begin!
    AG: Give me the short version then.
    AG: We still haven’t seen any sign of Lord English, which is weird 8ecause he should’ve 8een here 8y now.
    AG: 8ut since he’s o8viously not, I have time.
    GG: Hrmm...
    GG: That may be because he’s here.
    AG: WHAT????????
    GG: Uh,
    GG: Hold, please.
    AG: J8NE!!!!!!!!
    
    
    
     
              The house is shaking. That’s probably not a good sign. A shadow is cast upon the room through the window, prompting you to exchange glances with Dirk. What in the Sam Hill...?
    
              “The Batterwitch,” Dirk says suddenly. In seconds, the pair of you are racing out onto the balcony to see The Condesce’s bright red battleship hovered low over the house. Looks like you took too long to meet her out on Derse, and instead she took the initiative to come find you guys. You briefly wonder just how many curve balls you can possibly be thrown in one day. Right below you on the ground stand John, Dave, Rose, Jake, and ARquiusprite. Jade and Roxy had left earlier, stating they were to take care of some things you didn’t quite catch. Your eyes soon draw back to Jake, wary of his current nature. According to what Dirk’s just explained to you, The Condesce is his target. And now that she’s here, there’s really no telling what’s about to happen.
    
              “Shit,” Dirk murmurs beside you. You second that.
    
              Without even looking at your screen, you type,
    
    
    
    
      GG: And now The Condesce is here too.
    
    
    
     
              Vriska apparently has plenty to say to that because your phone is vibrating like crazy, but you’re preoccupied with the silhouette of your great, great grandmother descending with the light of Skaia behind her and a golden trident in hand. Her red-blue gaze sweeps over the house until it stops on whom you guess to be John at the front, and her smile widens to reveal many tiny pointed teeth.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              “There you are, guppy...” she purrs, halting in midair maybe fifteen feet away from the balcony. “I need ya to do me a solid, a’ight?”
    
              Down below, you hear John roughly whisper, “Who’s she talking to?”
    
              “Pretty sure that’s you, bro,” replies Dave.
    
              “Cool. Okay. Just wanted to be clear.”
    
              Your attention promptly switches back to the Batterwitch when she speaks again, “You’re gonna be my ticket out. Come here, buoy.” Then she raises her hand to gesture for John to come to her with a cleanly polished finger. The gemstone on her tiara lights up just as you hear John make a startled noise, turning in time to see him zip upward. He’s yanked toward her like a magnet until his body jerks to a stop by the stretch of his hood. Jake’s fist curls around the very end, pulling it taut, then he wrenches John back down to the ground where he crashes into Dave.
    
              And the silence that falls is deafening.
    
              The Condesce gapes, evidently taken aback. Then her earlier purr is replaced with a hiss, “The flip is this rude-ass glubber fucker?”
    
              From the side, Dirk mutters, “Be ready, Jane.”
    
              You glance at him, perplexed until he adds, “Those Life powers may be the only thing that stands between us and a bunch of mortal judgments.”
    
              Before you can respond, Jake’s low sinister tone somehow booms, bursting through the silence. “You’ve grown spineless, Meenah.” The altered lilt to his voice alone is chilling, and the cavalier use of what you assume to be her true name strips the glare from the troll Empress’ face. “Do you take me for a fool?”
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              You can nearly pinpoint the precise moment recognition dawns on The Condesce’s features. The sudden tension in her shoulders is noticeable. You briefly wonder what’s going through the minds of John, Dave, and Rose as the oblivious bystanders to this spectacle. Jake’s disturbingly calm demeanor vanishes when his expression abruptly contorts into rage. His fists clench, sparking the gradual buildup of polychromatic flames engulfing his body.
    
              “If you’re so enticed by the idea of my defeat, why not face me HERE?!” With that final word, Jake spits a massive beam that the Batterwitch manages to dodge by inches. Instead, it finds the hull of her battleship, blowing straight through and causing the vessel to begin to crumble and fall to LOWAS in pieces.
    
              Just barely, you think you catch The Condesce mutter, “Oh _ship_.”
    
              Then Jake launches toward her. You can hardly follow it when he slams into her body, effectively sends her flying into the collapsing debris of her own spacecraft. You’re startled from your spectating when Dirk taps your shoulder and subsequently jumps from the balcony. There’s an instant of hesitation before you follow him in his descent to join the four below. Understandably, your Pre-Scratch children are busy gawking as Jake English chases Her Imperious Condescension around the remains of the ship he singlehandedly destroyed.
    
              “Uh. Did we miss something here?” John is quick to ask as soon as the pair of you land. Next to him, Dave’s eyebrows are drawn so high, they’ve disappeared into his hairline. He doesn’t even bother breaking his gaze away from the battle waging above you when he speaks, “So was anyone going to tell me Grandpa Harley was an incarnation of Lord English, or was I supposed to watch him smack the piss out of Betty Crocker myself?”
    
              Dave’s question snaps John’s focus onto him. “Wait. Is The Condesce Betty Crocker?”
    
              Both Dave and Rose give him a look.
    
              “What? John. Yes. How are you _not_ aware of this by now?” is Rose’s baffled query.
    
              “Huh.”
    
              “Not to ruin this solution to a mystery that sounds like it probably should’ve already been solved, but I think we have a bit of a situation?” Dirk interrupts.
    
              “Agreed,” says Rose. “And on that subject, were you aware your friend was The Harbinger of Time or was this delightful reveal a revelation for all of us?”
    
              Neither of you gets the chance to respond when Dave tacks on, “Yeah, is this some shitty plot twist where one of us has been the big bad all along and none of us knew it? You know what I’m saying, right? Though I feel like we should’ve seen this one coming, given his sketch as fuck name. I mean, has he _always_ been Lord English? Scheming our demise and shit from the very beginning? Because I ain’t gonna lie, that might bum me out a little bit. Man, I thought Jake was a pretty cool guy too. Is it the _real_ Lord English up in there or some alternate universe spirit clone? Can he—”
    
              Dirk’s hand flattens over Dave’s mouth, silencing his brother’s ramble. With a sigh, he replies, “Only recently. Kind of. Yes. No. No. And gonna go out on a limb here and say yes, it’s the real Lord English. Just give me a minute to explain.”
    
              “Is this really the time?” John asks. As a group, all of your eyes draw up to see The Condesce telekinetically toss hefty parts of the broken Battleship Condescension at Jake while he breathes rainbow fire back. The other retaliates with optic blasts of her own and they go round and round again. From your left, Dave replies, “You really wanna get in the middle of that, dude?”
    
              “Point taken.”
    
              With that, Dirk tries to further summarize the explanation he gave you earlier. You seize the opportunity to glance back at the conversation you were having with Vriska.
    
    
    
    
      
    
    AG: WHAT THE HELL DO Y8U MEAN, HE’S THERE????????
    AG: Jane, if this is another one of your “hilarious” pr8nks, it’s n8t funny!
    AG: Why the hell would English go to LOWAS?
    AG: Don’t tell me I had to suffer Tavros telling me to suck it 8ecause he did something right for once 8y putting together a ghost army meant to lure that 8astard out here for N8THING!!!!!!!!
    AG: Please PLEASE tell me th8t’s not what’s happening right now.
    GG: And now The Condesce is here too.
    AG: FUUUUUUUUCK!
    AG: None of this m8kes any sense!
    AG: What was even the point of all that planning if 8oth of the m8in villains were going to run around doing what the fuck ever?!
    AG: God!!!!!!!!
    AG: This goes ag8inst everything we anticip8ed.
    AG: Do you have any idea why they’re there?
    AG: Jane?
    AG: J8NE!
    AG: God damn it.
    AG: Ugh.
    AG: Listen, Jane.
    AG: If you’re not dead already. Which if 8oth Lord English and The Condesce are there now, there’s a good chance you are, so I’m not gonna get my hopes up.
    AG: 8ut in the unlikely event that you aren’t, you N88D to 8ring Lord English here.
    AG: I don’t have another wall panel to 8ring me 8ack to you guys.
    GG: Hrmm.
    GG: That may be a tad tricky to achieve.
    AG: Well, o8viously.
    AG: I didn’t expect it to 8e a walk in the park.
    GG: No, I mean.
    GG: He’s a bit... attached.
    AG: Attached...?
    GG: To Jake.
    AG: Uh?
    GG: As in Jake is currently of the English persuasion.
    AG: ...
    GG: As in he’s possessed, dammit!
    GG: Sheesh!
    AG: Alright.
    AG: Now I KNOW you’re messing with me.
    AG: There is NO W8Y Lord English would have any reason to use that pillow as a medium.
    GG: The way Jake is currently chasing around your troll queen would disagree.
    AG: Okay. Let’s say I 8elieve you.
    AG: Regardless of whether the Lord of Time is currently flying around in the guise of your resident Page 8oy, you still need to get him out here to the Furthest Ring somehow.
    GG: Oh! Will you be able to separate them if we do?
    AG: Uh, no. I can assure you his death won’t 8e in vain though.
    GG: What?! That’s not a solution!!
    AG: That’s not my pro8lem!
    AG: YOU’RE the one that cares a8out him. Figure it out!
    GG: UGH. How can you be so obnoxious?!
    GG: Can’t you think about anyone other than yourself??
    AG: Look.
    AG: What was the other guy’s name again?
    GG: Who?
    GG: Dirk?
    AG: Sure.
    AG: He might 8e a8le to take care of it on his own.
    AG: Just focus on getting English to me.
    arachnidsGrip [AG] ceased bothering gutsyGumshoe [GG]
    
    
    GG: What???
    
    
     
              _Profoundly_ unhelpful.
    
              “Jane! _Watch it!_”
    
              The shout and violent tug of your arm yanks you back to reality. John maneuvers the pair of you off to the side just as a wall of fire narrowly misses the house. You probably should be paying better attention, huh? In the next moment, you catch a glimpse of The Baroness plummeting into one of the nearby brown rock formations, shattering it. Jake floats overhead, a twisted grin prevalent on his face that reintroduces the chills to the back of your neck. You never would’ve imagined your childhood friend could look this menacing.
    
              The rubble piled upon the Empress remains still, and after some time, you begin to wonder if she’s going to get back up again. Then you’re blinded by a blast of color, and in its wake rises The Condesce, standing tall but a bit worse for wear. She spits out a trace amount of pink blood, bares her teeth in aggravation. She spares a fleeting glance at John, then with a sneer, she ascends with her trident poised at her side and says, “Sea ya, suckas.” before she retreats into the Void.
    
              Jake doesn’t even hesitate when setting off to pursue her, moving so fast you can hardly register it. Unsurprisingly, Dirk is the first to react.
    
              “We can’t lose sight of them!” he shouts as he follows. Then the rest of you give chase.
    
              You can’t even see The Condesce anymore, and Jake is already just a barely discernible speck in the distance. Both move exponentially faster than any of you can and you’re afraid you may soon lose track of them. To your chagrin, only seconds later does Jake completely vanish in the inky blackness. Despite this, Dirk shows no signs of slowing down, and neither does anyone else. You do share an anxious glance with Rose however. It’s clear none of you will be able to keep up and now you’re simply flying blind. You’re about to call out to Dirk after a couple minutes of this when something appears in your peripheral.
    
              Two somethings, actually.
    
              Two _very large_ somethings.
    
              Like, planet-sized somethings. Maybe because they’re actually planets.
    
              Yours and Roxy’s planets, to be exact.
    
              Your group slows to a stop as two celestial bodies converge on the point you saw Jake disappear minutes ago. They sail through the Incipisphere much faster than any planet has any business moving, before crashing together and producing shockwaves of sound that rattle your ribcage. It seems to happen in slow motion, the pieces of your respective worlds splitting off like a terrestrial firework. You’re suddenly glad all your consorts were dead long before you’d entered the session.
    
              “Holy shit,” Dave mutters a few feet ahead of you right when Rose asks, “Uh, what did we just observe here?”
    
              “...This is exactly like what happened in my timeline,” John says quietly. “I think The Condesce did this.”
    
              You squint at the planets sandwiched together miles and miles away from you. “Why would she? To block us?”
    
              Past Dave, you spot Dirk shake his head. “Not us...” It’s hard to tell, but you think he might sound scared.
    
              ...Scared for Jake?
    
              Then he charges forward without warning. With another glance exchanged with the others, you proceed to follow again until you begin to notice the glow of cracks webbing out from the point of impact on the surface of both LOPAN and LOCAH. You only have a moment to observe because a blinding white light erupts between them, forcing the globes apart. You raise your hand to try and shield your eyes, startled when something sails past you. When you can somewhat focus again, you see it’s chased by another, and another. Winged serpents disperse in all directions, seemingly uninterested in any of you while they scream, hiss, and slither about aimlessly. The light begins to die down, and as the remnants of each planet drift to one side, you notice something at the center: a massive pair of glowing three-pronged wings. They vaguely remind you of the symbol you saw on Jake’s god tier outfit.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              Almost instantly, Dirk is off again, and this time, none of you hesitate to pursue. And although Jake is exponentially easier to keep in sight with those colossal ethereal protrusions on his back, he moves again with a new burst of speed significantly greater than before. A tiny spark in the distance alerts you to The Condesce’s position. It’s hard to tell from this distance, but you think Jake tackles her full force, sending them both careening towards Prospit.
    
              It takes what feels like forever to make it to your old dream planet. By the time you hit the atmosphere, you can see the waste already laid to it from the continued battle between the game’s two largest foes. Plumes of smoke tower overhead from the patches of flame that hungrily consume the city below. You and the others meet and watch as your demonically possessed best friend tosses your great, great grandmother like a ragdoll through one of the many spires of the golden city, destroying it.
    
              “So what’s the plan here?” John inquires on behalf of everyone.
    
              “We need to separate Lord English from Jake’s body,” you say immediately.
    
              “Yeah. That’d be great, but I don’t think Sea Hitler is going to sit around and wait for us to do that,” Dave replies. Next to him, Dirk summons his katana prior to declaring “Then we’ll just have to help Jake kill her.”
    
              His brother turns to look at him. “Oh shit. Are we fucking doing this?”
    
              Dirk nods. “We’re making this happen.”
    
              In the distance past them, two energy beams clash in an explosion of color, incinerating the buildings below.
    
              “This is stupid,” John remarks, giant blue hammer in hand. You take that as your cue to equip your Red Skaia Fork. You can’t help but agree with your ecto-son.
    
              “Yup.”
    
              Ever prepared, Dirk engages first, followed closely by Dave, John, and ARquiusprite, who you honestly forgot was even still present. You make to join them when Rose stops you with a hand on your shoulder. The look you give her is puzzled. “Rose? What is it?”
    
              “You mentioned separating Lord English from Jake. I wouldn’t think that possible,” she states. “Is there something you know?”
    
              You frown, eventually shaking your head. “Not much. I spoke with Vriska earlier, and she told me that no matter what, we need to bring Lord English to her in the Furthest Ring. But when I asked her what to do about Jake, she seemed to think Dirk could—”
    
              You’re cut off when another body collides with yours. Fortunately, you’re able to steady yourself and John before spiraling into another building. Ahead, Rose takes the initiative to join the fray. You check over John, healing the sprawling bruise already forming on his stomach when he points it out. Aside from that, he’s more or less okay.
    
              Trying to fight The Condesce alongside a Lord English possessed Jake is like trying to chase a rabbit through a minefield—a hyper aggressive, superpowered rabbit. He attacks the Empress with abandon, with no concern paid to what may get caught in the collateral damage. The latter does little more than flee through the streets of Prospit, only able to slip away via the close-knit mapping of the buildings. And when one of you gets close enough to charge her, she either repels you with a single blow of her trident or deters you with a blast from her eyes. Dirk and Dave both manage to strike her with a pincer move, but the wounds they inflict are too shallow to slow her down.
    
              Jake’s wings had already disappeared before you’d first found them in the city, his speed decreased to what it’d been previously as a result. You see him ascend to hover above the city upon losing sight of your shared enemy, only for The Baroness to ambush him from behind. None of you are fast enough to intervene when she grabs and twists one of his arms while delivering a hard kick to his shoulder. He cascades into one of the buildings at the other end of the familiar courtyard you’ve ended up over, and with a dawning horror, you realize his arm is still in The Condesce’s grasp. Rose shoots a bolt of light from one of her wands that the other parries with her trident, distracting the Empress long enough for John to drive his hammer into her lower back.
    
              Stunned, she drops Jake’s arm before batting John away. You dive down to grab it just as it’s about to hit the ground and try not to think about how you’re holding the severed limb of one of your best friends. You wonder if this is how Jake felt when he’d held Dirk’s decapitated head in his hands months ago. It’d probably been worse.
    
              You veer off to find Jake while the others keep the Batterwitch busy, surprised to see him already back up, standing upon the rubble. Around twenty feet away, you pause, realizing he may not take kindly to your approach. From here, you can see him breathe deep through his nose, blood seeping from some wound he’d sustained on his forehead as well as oozing into the sleeve of his jacket from what you imagine to be the frayed stump of his left shoulder. The rest of his clothes are torn, but not terribly so. In fact, he doesn’t appear to be all that worn out, much less fazed by the loss of one of his limbs, and you’re unsure if you should be relieved or afraid.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              The flicker of his gaze is trained on the battle still going on behind you. You wonder if he’s even taken note of you, if such an insignificant target is worth his interest. If you advance now, perhaps he won’t even realize it when you stitch him back together. You swallow your fear, deciding this may be your only opportunity before he rejoins the fight.
    
              When you draw closer, his prismatic eyes shift to pierce you and you freeze, breath hitching. But upon seeing him make no move to lash out, you hesitantly brave the distance left between you. The flames of his aura sting as they lick at your hands, but any damage they inflict is quickly undone by your aspect. Jake is eerily calm as you reattach his arm, slow and cautious. You think one wrong move will spell the end for you, so you try to suppress the trembling. The fact that he continues to stare at you unblinkingly from the corner of his eye certainly doesn’t help the hammering in your chest. You want to say something, assure him that you’ll find some way to save him, but presume that may overstep some boundary that will put you at his current mindset’s mercy. You bite your tongue instead.
    
              He departs as soon as you’re finished, and you nearly fall over from the aftershock of him practically breaking the sound barrier. You’re left dizzy, but you can finally breathe again. You take a moment to resettle your rapidly beating heart, then prepare to rejoin the fray.
    
              The Condesce’s retaliation now seems to be far more erratic, almost desperate. She manages to impale both Rose and Dave on her trident, virtually one right after the other, but you’re swift to revive them. Soon you discover that your actions have infuriated her because she shifts her attention onto you with vigor. Even beaten and exhausted, she’s far quicker than you are, and you’re only able to slip away a couple times before she ultimately has you gripped tight by the neck.
    
              It hurts. _God_, it hurts as she squeezes and squeezes, crushing the air out of your windpipe. You choke, watching through teary vision while she poises her trident to strike, eager to rid herself of your problematic healing once and for all.
    
              And as far as you can tell, no one is coming to your rescue.
    
              This is the end for you, isn’t it? Not the most glamorous way to go out, but you made it this far at least.
    
              There’s not much you’re able to do as she thrusts the thing forward. Someone shouts your name—probably Dirk. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, steeling yourself for the pain.
    
              The tines pierce your belly, digging in swift and sharp as you cry out.
    
              _Fuck, it hurts...!_
    
              It hurts so much!! Oh god, you’re going to die!
    
              The pain is blinding, but... it feels shallow.
    
              You blink past the streams of tears with blurry vision, gritting your teeth to bite down your sobs. Confused, you force yourself to focus until you see Jake there between you, the end of the trident The Condesce is attempting to impale you on gripped tight in his hand, halted before it could dig any deeper.
    
              And he looks _furious_.
    
              What happens next is so fast, you scarcely believe you witnessed it at all. But Jake proceeds to jerk the weapon from your body and snap it over his knee like a twig, and without a second wasted, he drives one end through The Condesce’s stomach—
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
              —and the other up into her jaw through her head.
    
              Almost instantly, the slender fingers encircling your neck lose their strength, and you back out of her grasp, coughing hard and clutching at the wounds on your stomach as they mend. You look away from the gruesome spray of bright pink blood over Jake’s hands, but the image is burned into your mind, causing your violent coughs to mix with gags. Oh no, you feel sick.
    
              Jake’s cruelty doesn’t end there. He tosses her body to the ground, then spits a beam of flame upon it so broad, you wouldn’t be surprised if it consumes roughly half of Prospit. When he’s done, there’s quite literally nothing left.
    
              It’s over, but the afterglow of victory hardly feels like a victory at all. Rather than a battle, this felt like an execution.
    
              You put some distance between yourself and Jake, find the others appearing one by one on either side as you do. His back remains turned. Silently, you observe as he raises his hands to pensively gaze at his bloodstained open palms. He flexes them several times, fingers curling and uncurling, hunching his shoulders as he does so.
    
              “Jake.”
    
              Dirk’s voice startles you. Jake peers over his shoulder at the lot of you, but soon turns away again. Despite his current placidity, you hold yourself defensively, fully expectant that he’ll turn and strike without warning. Glances to the left and right confirm your caution is shared amongst your peers, seeing as they’re braced with their weapons held in his direction with the exception of Dirk. But his fist curls tightly around the katana at his side. He’d rather not fight, and so would you, but you already know the inevitable.
    
              “You’re still here, are you?” Jake drawls flippantly. He continues to experimentally flex his hands, gives no sign of speaking further.
    
              Dirk takes a deep breath.
    
              “You got what you wanted. Give him back,” he demands. You admire the strength in his tone, especially when you yourself are on the verge of hyperventilating. Try as you might, the image of The Condesce bloody and limp hangs clear in your mind.
    
              Possibly intrigued by the challenge, Jake finally turns to face Dirk properly. The flames of his aura have faded to the point of transparency, somehow enhancing the brightness of his irises by contrast as he studies the boy next to you.
    
              “And if I don’t?” he tests.
    
              “What further use do you have for his body?” Dirk all but snaps back, clearly frustrated.
    
              The other chuckles snidely. “You stupid fuck. I don’t need this worthless body.” He gazes down at his fist once more, seems to be attempting to trigger something when he clenches and unclenches it yet again. “I’m much more interested in this... force. Hope, right?” he questions thoughtfully.
    
              No one answers, so he continues, “The wings I was deprived, all because I believed I had them in that moment. And the _power_... I’ve clearly underestimated its destructive potential.” Another flex. “But why can I not...” He trails off.
    
              “Harness it?” Rose momentarily provides. The snap of Jake’s attention to her insinuates she’s guessed correctly. “Your host isn’t fully realized, and even if he was, I doubt you’d be able to harmonize with an aspect that isn’t intended for you. Likely, that earlier instance with the planets was only prompted as a defense mechanism to circumvent his demise. But to deliberately employ it, your aptitude falls short,” she states.
    
              “Which means there’s no reason for you to try and hold onto it,” you’re quick to add. His glare pierces you again, slowly raking over you until you feel yourself tremble before it flicks back to Roxy’s ecto-daughter. “My aptitude falls short of _nothing_. Time will see it bend to my will or break beneath it. And I don’t mind waiting to see which occurs.”
    
              It’s actually Dave that argues this time. “It’s not a question of time, dude. I don’t think the game is gonna let you cheat its design so you can use two aspects. It doesn’t work like that.”
    
              But Jake only responds with booming laughter. He runs his hand through his hair, chortling at the sky for what feels like a solid minute before his gaze drops back to the group, harlequin eyes frightfully wide and manic. “Darling, I can’t cheat a game that _wants_ me to win! But even if that were the case, it’s clear to me how laughably little you comprehend of your own inefficacious attempt at Skaia’s genesis. I mean, look around you!” He gestures pointedly at John in particular. “Go ahead! Preach until you’re blue in the puss! But _there_ stands your cheat code manifested in flesh and bone.”
    
              No one returns with anything for a moment, but soon you hear Dirk’s sigh of impatience. His voice is a mixture of tired and furious when he says, “Look, frankly I don’t give a shit what your dastardly plans are or how biased this fuckin’ game is. Obviously, we’re not gonna just sit here and watch you leech on Jake’s bottomless blind optimism. So do I have to whack that stupid psychotic smirk off your face with my glove to get our duel on or what?”
    
              The other tilts his head, clearly unamused. Then icily, he sneers, “Not interested.” With dread, you watch as he drifts upward and bares his teeth, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Figures, you humans learn to fly a little and suddenly presume yourselves gods. But let’s see if you’ll keep up, because I know of one way that might get this potential to submit.”
    
              Oh, fudge. You think you have a hunch what he’s getting at, and if you’re right, then—
    
              “I wonder how much will be left of that feckless worm when you get there.”
    
              Yeahhhh. That’s not good.
    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rip Pre-Scratch Meenah. You was a bad bitch.
> 
> So yeah, we at that point where I prolly won't post another chapter until I finish (or at least come close to finishing) writing one. So here's to hoping it don't take that long. <.<


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